Fabula Post Bellum: A Potter Fanfiction
by Maverick.Heart
Summary: CHAPTER 18 NOW UP! The holidays are fast approaching - a time for reunions, rest, and warm memories with family. Why, then, are some members of the Weasley-Potter clan not too keen on returning home?
1. Chapter 1

**Fabula Post Bellum:**

**A Potter Fanfiction**

**Chapter 1: The Departing**

The throng of waving spectators had long disappeared into the distance, but he continued staring out of the window, almost in the hopes that in doing so he could turn back the clock. All he wanted in this moment was to see their smiling faces for a few seconds more…

Which was a funny thing, really, because he had been looking forward to this day since he was a quite small boy, barely able to understand that he was a wizard. As the days wore on, though – as summer ended and August gave way to September – that anticipation had melded with a sense of apprehension, even perhaps fear.

He could barely see his reflection in the window as the train chugged along around the edge of London. A dark-haired boy looked back at him with bright, startlingly green eyes.

A lot of people told Albus Potter nowadays that he was not unlike his own father had been at eleven years old – kindhearted, a bit quiet, and curious.

Albus knew the truth, though. He and his father, although they looked rather alike, had several deliberate differences.

Albus had spent months preparing for this day. Today was the first of September, and not just any first of September; it was the first of September after his eleventh birthday, which was an important day indeed for wizards in his part of the world. Today was the day he started his education at one of Europe's foremost institutions for people of his ilk: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There was very little mystery to young Albus's life. He showed his first traces of magical power during his toddler years, leaving no doubt that he was indeed a wizard.

His father hadn't been that fortunate. His father had grown up around Muggles – nonmagical folk – with no idea that this world existed, let alone that he had always been meant for this world.

"…But that was until a ten-foot-tall half-giant knocked down our door, handed me my Hogwarts letter, and told me that I was a wizard… all to the tune of about five minutes," his father had recounted on several occasions, almost always with a chuckle. It seemed that now, more than twenty years removed from the events, he had come to terms with the bizarreness of his own story. Even as wizards went, his father was unique; still, Albus had learned very quickly to take his father's word on things.

Albus, on the other hand, was much like most wizards. He grew up around wizards his entire childhood; he didn't need anyone to explain to him about the Ministry of Magic (after all, his father and several of his relatives worked there) or what Diagon Alley was. Being a wizard was part of his identity. It was normal for him. It was the Muggles that were different. Not worse, just… different.

Of course, the one thing that did make Albus different from most wizards was his name.

(He heard his father's voice from about an hour ago saying it in full:) Albus Severus Potter.

He sighed as he leaned his head back against the cushioned chair. He loved his father dearly, but honestly, what had the man been thinking? Having the Potter name as a collar was bad enough… but Albus Severus Potter?

He was named after not one, not two, but _three_ of the most famous wizards of their generations. Not to mention "Albus" wasn't a particularly common name, even among wizarding folk. (That was part of the reason everyone called him "Al" for short.)

"All right there, Al?" a somewhat sneering voice from directly across the compartment rang out. Albus tore his eyes from the window and stared straight into the brown ones of a slightly older boy. This other boy's hair was brownish and quite wild. A shadow of a smirk sat on his face. "You're awfully quiet."

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick," Albus admitted. He never did know whether anything he said to his older brother, James, would prompt a compassionate response or laughter at his expense. James Sirius Potter was every bit like his namesakes, especially with his rather brutal penchant for humor. James had teased him the entire trip about one of his main fears – up until their mother had chewed him out, that is. "Are you sure you didn't –"

"I told you," interrupted James, mildly annoyed. "I don't know that jinx. I begged Uncle Ron to teach it to me, but he wouldn't. I dunno why, he knew it his second year –"

Albus sighed loudly. It was his way of letting James know that he wasn't interested in knowing why they weren't allowed to learn a jinx that made its target belch slugs.

"Are you still on about the Slytherin thing?" James asked with a smirk. "I mean, I'm sure Mum and Dad would still love you if you were on the fast track to be the next Vol—"

"That's not funny, James," Albus snapped, and James stopped immediately. Albus rarely ever snapped. "But… really… out of all our cousins, how many have been in Gryffindor? Almost the whole family."

"Too right, the 'whole family'," James repeated. "They might as well rename Gryffindor the 'House of Weasley.'"

James and Albus weren't just part of the Potter family. Their mother, Ginny, was a Weasley – one of seven children of Arthur and Molly Weasley, who lived in Ottery St. Catchpole.

Well, six children – Albus never had the chance to meet his Uncle Fred, who died in battle years before he was born. But everyone always talked about his sense of humor. He thought his Uncle Fred and James would have gotten on very well.

In any case, the fact that their mother had that many siblings meant that they had many cousins as well. Their Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur lived at Shell Cottage on the coast and had three children. Victoire was the oldest (and the exception to the rule – she had been sorted into Ravenclaw). She was in her last year at Hogwarts. Albus hadn't thought to go see her on the train. She was probably in a compartment with a bunch of her giggling girlfriends, after all. Dominique was a third year and may have been in a girl group of her own. Louis was unfortunate enough to turn eleven on September the second. If he'd been born a couple of days earlier, he'd be on the train with them right now. As it was, he had to wait another year.

His Uncle George (Fred's twin) and his wife had twins – Freddy and Roxanne. They were both… fourth years, Albus was reasonably sure.

Uncle Percy's children – both girls – were too young to attend Hogwarts. Aside from the one Weasley brother who remained a bachelor to this day, Percy was the last to marry by a considerable margin.

Their mother, Ginny, was the youngest. Albus and James had a little sister – Lily – who was a nine-year-old miniature of Ginny herself.

Then there were Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione –

THUMP. Albus jumped.

"Bloody hell, Al," swore James. Albus had to suppress a guilty laugh; their mother would have thrown a fit if she'd ever heard James talking like that. "You're making _me_ nervous now. Calm down, will you?"

He stood and walked over to a door, sliding it open. A smiling girl with slightly bushy, reddish-brown hair was already in her dark Hogwarts robes. Albus's heart leapt a bit.

"Oh – hi, Rose," James said casually.

"Hey," she said a bit breathlessly. "You don't mind if –"

"Are you mental?" interrupted James. "Only boys allowed!"

Rose frowned.

"…Which is what I'd say if I weren't in a good mood," James laughed, stepping aside. "Come in!"

She planted herself directly next to Albus, leaning on him semi-jokingly by way of a show of affection. Rose was the first of Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's two children (her brother, Hugo, was two years younger) and the other member of the family that was to start Hogwarts this year. She was one of their many cousins, but she was almost as much of a sister to Albus as Lily. Rose and Hugo Weasley might as well have grown up under the Potters' roof, as much as they visited.

"So what's the matter?" James asked. "Couldn't find any girls to sit with?"

"Of course I could," said Rose, looking uncomfortable. Rose was extremely intelligent, but a bit socially awkward. "But I just wanted to be with family instead. Is there something wrong with that? I don't see you with your friends."

"They're around," said James, stretching himself out on the seat that he had all to himself. "I just had to make sure ickle Al here didn't soil his trousers on the train."

Albus frowned.

"So what House do you think you'll be in?" she asked very quickly.

(A loud hissing noise issued from James's general direction. Albus tried to ignore him.)

"Dunno," Albus said. "Probably Gryffindor, I guess. Almost all our family have been…"

"Whatever decision the Hat makes, I hope it's quick," Rose commented, her brow creasing in a frown. "I'd rather not be a Hatstall."

"Yeah, nobody likes a Hatstall," James agreed. "Partly 'cause we can't eat 'til the Sorting's done."

Hogwarts was split into four Houses, or 'teams', as it were – each named after the school's four founders: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. First-year students were placed into these Houses based on certain character traits seen in them by a centuries-old, sentient, mind-reading hat.

That was the way of wizards, so Albus had no problem believing it. But he did wonder how his father, who hadn't been brought up a wizard, must have reacted to hearing something like that.

"Sorry," Albus uttered, "but what's a Hatstall?"

He'd never heard the term used before.

"It's where the Sorting Hat can't decide where to put you. Usually it takes about fifteen seconds, but with Hatstalls it's known to go on five minutes – or longer," Rose explained. "Mum was almost one. She ended up in Gryffindor, but the Hat thought of putting her in Ravenclaw for a moment."

"Makes sense," commented James. "Aunt Hermione's, like, a genius. But a bit lucky she ended up in Gryffindor, really. Otherwise, she and Uncle Ron might have never got to know each other, and you wouldn't be here talking about it."

Albus winced. James might have had a point. Still, there was no such thing as a gentle way to theorize a person out of existence.

"There's no guarantee of that," Rose said, her voice a bit clipped. Albus had been around her long enough to know she only did that when she was annoyed. "Just because you're in different Houses doesn't mean that you can't… well, you know…"

"O…kay, can we talk about something else now?" James asked. "I don't wanna talk about… that."

Albus never voiced his opinion, but he always thought he'd had a more mature view on romance than his older brother, whose twelve-year-old mind seemed torn between curiosity and revulsion whenever it was brought up. Albus simply accepted that it was something – perhaps something good – that happened in the lives of people, and that maybe one day it would happen to him as well. Aside from that, he was largely indifferent.

"Well, I do," Rose piped in. James stared at her reproachfully. "Or, what I mean is – how long have Victoire and Teddy Lupin been together?"

Albus's heart jolted again. Teddy Lupin was his father's godson, and might as well have been an older brother to the Potter children. He was over for dinner about every other day most weeks. James had come running back onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters with the news that he had caught Teddy snogging Victoire on the train. Lily was keen on having Teddy in the family – as in, she wanted Teddy and Victoire to stay together and marry at some point. Albus wasn't so sure. He liked Teddy, and he supposed he liked Victoire, but Victoire was the kind of person that was best in small doses.

"I don't know," said James impatiently. "I just caught them snogging on the platform this morning. It can't have been long. You think he would have mentioned—"

James trailed off and exchanged a significant look with Albus. As different as Albus and James were, they still had that brotherly way of communicating without words, and Albus knew exactly what James was thinking. Teddy, who probably should have been visiting more than ever (as his godfather was helping him in finding a job) hadn't come over for about a week or two, which was extremely uncommon.

"Yeah, it must've happened recently," James finally murmured, almost to himself.

"Do you think it's… you know… real?" Rose asked James. James frowned because he knew what Rose was trying to say. Victoire and her little sister, Dominique, were both quite pretty girls, probably owing to their mother's ancestry. Each of the girls had a trace of veela blood in their veins, and veela were humanoid creatures whose beauty had a very profound effect on men.

"How should I know?" asked James with an air of wanting this conversation to be over.

Rose simply frowned. She turned to Albus.

"You heard about the changes, right?" she asked. Albus raised his eyebrows.

"Changes?"

"Blimey, Al…" James kneaded the bridge of his nose. "Hogwarts has a new Headmaster. Professor McGonagall retired at the end of last term."

"It was a bit of a shock, really…" Rose said. "She's not young at all, but she didn't seem to show any signs of slowing down. She probably could have gone ten, fifteen more years if she'd really wanted to."

"But she didn't want to, so there you have it," James answered.

"So who got the job?" Albus asked. He already knew some of the professors by name and was looking to hear the name of someone familiar.

"Old Flitwick," James said. "Probably set a record for the shortest Headmaster if nothing else…"

"Oh, come off it!" Rose snapped scoldingly. "Professor Flitwick's brilliant! Not to mention he's the longest tenured professor Hogwarts has—"

"No, he's not," James interrupted flatly. Rose's mouth gaped for a moment. "You're forgetting Binns. History of Magic. He'd been teaching about fifty years when our grandparents were at school."

"Yeah, but Professor Binns is a ghost, isn't he?" asked Rose a bit dismissively. "Besides, can you imagine him doing start-of-term announcements?"

"Merlin's pants, you're right," uttered James darkly, punctuating his remark with a shudder.

"What's wrong with Flitwick?" asked Rose.

"Nothing," James said defensively. Looking down at his trainers, he muttered, "Although I wish Professor Longbottom – Neville, I mean – had gotten it…"

Professor Longbottom, at least outside of Hogwarts, was known simply as "Neville" to the family. He was a dear friend of their parents.

"He's still way too young, everyone knows that. He's the same age as our parents," Rose said. "But he is head of Gryffindor House now, so there may be hope for him as a Headmaster a few years down the road. Professor Flitwick's not exactly in the spring of his life, after all…"

"Neville wouldn't be the first wizard to become Headmaster of Hogwarts in his thirties," James said impatiently. "Didn't-"

"Those were… special circumstances," Rose interrupted. "Not to mention _he'd_ been teaching almost twenty years at that point. Neville's only been there about five years. He's done well to become Head of Gryffindor House so quickly."

"Good point," James said with a momentary frown. "Oh, well – I'll keep rooting for him! I wonder, if he ever _did_ become Headmaster, whether he'd still live over the Leaky Cauldron? That'd make him the coolest Headmaster that ever lived – next to Dumbledore, of course."

"Don't know," Rose said. The three sat in silence for a while. By now, they were well into their trip, the Hogwarts Express snaking through Britain's countryside as it wound its way north into Hogsmeade Station.

Albus became lost in thought again. He wondered what sort of welcome would await him. He knew he'd be seeing Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper and another dear friend of the family. The first-years traditionally sailed across the Black Lake to the castle, shepherded by the gamekeeper. Hagrid also happened to be the half-giant that had introduced Albus's father to the wizarding world.

Albus's father… Harry Potter. He had once been known to the wizarding world as "The Boy Who Lived" – as if simply surviving was a great achievement worthy of legend. Then again, as powerful and as dangerous as the wizard who had tried to kill him had been, perhaps it was. The man known as Lord Voldemort had already claimed hundreds of lives, including those of Harry Potter's parents. It was through a strange combination of magical circumstances few could fully explain that the darkest Dark wizard of his age had not only failed to kill Harry as an infant, but had been defeated utterly and driven into hiding. Still, though, Harry had been left an orphan, and left in the care of Muggle relatives.

Then, when Harry was about the same age as Albus was presently, Hagrid appeared. It just so happened, though, that as Harry found his own way back into the wizarding world, his mortal enemy was seeking to do the same. After two attempts and two failures, Voldemort succeeded in returning, sparking a second war in wizarding Britain that finally ended three years later when Harry, by then a young man, defeated Voldemort for good.

That was the legacy that came with the Potter name. To say nothing of the fact that Albus was named for two Headmasters of Hogwarts and two of the most powerful wizards of their time.

"One of them was a Slytherin… and he was the bravest man I ever knew," Albus's father had told him. Still, that did little to assuage young Albus's fears. Slytherin House, whatever it was now, had been largely hostile to his parents and older relatives during their time at the school.

His trip to Ollivander's hadn't helped matters, either. Ollivander was a quite old wizard whose shop had been selling wands to wizards for thousands of years. Actually, Ollivander himself was so old Albus often wondered to himself if he had been the same Ollivander that started the shop. Albus was naturally excited to acquire his wand. Most of that excitement was extinguished, however:

"Nine-and-a-half inches, yew…"

Fortunately for Albus's sanity, the core of the wand happened to be dragon heartstring as opposed to the feather from a phoenix tail. But the wand that Lord Voldemort himself had used for nearly all of his life also happened to be made of yew. This fact was not lost on Ollivander, who insisted on discussing it with Albus before Harry mercifully ended the conversation so they could go to the Apothecary and look for potion ingredients.

Speaking of wands, James had his out and was sort of twirling it, making red sparks dance harmlessly off the ceiling. Rose, who had immersed herself in a rather thick book, heard the crackling sounds and looked up.

"James, you're gonna put out a light," she said.

"Where's your wand?" he asked Rose. "Dad's always told me that not having your wand is pretty much like not having your right hand."

"Well, Uncle Harry's an Auror, isn't he? Of course he'd think like that," Rose replied. For once in her life, Rose was only half-right. Aurors had the task of capturing Dark wizards. Harry Potter, though, was no ordinary Auror. He was the head of the Auror Office, which meant that every Auror in wizarding Britain reported to him. It was a fitting job, Albus supposed, for the man that had brought down the most dangerous Dark wizard in several generations. "Besides… if I'm going to lose a hand, I'd rather it be the right one. I'm left-handed, remember?"

"Being left-handed is the mark of a Dark wizard," James said with a glint in his eye – but Rose had been around James and his humor for years. She quickly shut him down.

"Rubbish. That's nothing but an old superstition from the Middle Ages," she sniffed.

"Anyway… what's your wand?" James asked.

"Eight-and-a-quarter, hawthorn, unicorn hair," she said very quickly, as if she had memorized it by heart. "Springy. Ollivander said it's good for charms, but not so great for Transfiguration… which has me a little worried."

"It's _you_. Of course you'll be able to do Transfiguration," scoffed James. "Mine? Twelve inches, holly, like Dad's, with a hippogriff's feather core—"

"_Twelve inches?_" repeated Rose, gaping at the wand in James's hand. James had a strangely smug expression on his face. "I didn't know there were even wands that long."

"You kidding me?" laughed James. "Dad says he's seen one that's eighteen before. I wonder if he was talking about Hagrid's wand? Hagrid would probably need one that big…"

"I wonder what poor tree had to give its right arm to provide Hagrid with a wand?" Rose asked. James and Albus both burst into laughter. While Rose had taken after her mother's bookish tendencies, she also got just a small bit of her father's sense of humor. Albus spent most of the next few hours trying and failing to suppress the mental image of Hagrid channeling magic through a wand the size of an oak tree limb. For the first time in several weeks, his nervousness about not being a Gryffindor – or, worse, being in Slytherin – was not the first thought at the forefront of his mind.

Eventually, night began to fall upon the advancing train. Rose politely went on a convenient walk as James and Albus changed into their robes. The latter looked himself over.

"They fit better at Madam Malkin's," he remarked.

"Oh, come off it, you look fine," James intoned. "You just feel like nothing fits because of your nerves."

At that moment, Rose came back into the compartment.

"You're not gonna believe who I just saw," she said breathlessly.

* * *

Yes, it's a bit slow getting started, but I can promise that things will pick up in short order. You'll see some familiar faces and their offspring, and maybe if you look close enough, some relatives of characters you may have forgotten about. Feel free to read and review - next chapter will probably be up in about two weeks, but if there's enough demand, I'll probably post sooner.

- MH


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Seeds of Greatness**

"Scorpius Malfoy?" repeated Albus after Rose said the name. James snorted loudly.

"Sorry, but… who names their kid 'Scorpius'?"

Albus frowned. "I can't talk. My name is Albus Severus."

"Yeah, but you're named after famous wizards, so you have a good excuse," deadpanned James. "So what did he do when he saw you, Rose?"

"Nothing, really. He seemed lost," she remarked.

"What do you mean, 'lost'?" James asked. "He's obviously a wizard, right? I mean, there hasn't been a Muggle in that bloodline in centuries. Ten Sickles says he's in Slytherin. It'll be quick like mine. He might not even need to put the hat _on._ It'll probably yell it at him from a distance.

Albus remembered that James had sent the family a letter by owl not long after term started, announcing that he had been sorted into Gryffindor. In fact, as James had put it, the old Sorting Hat had barely met the wild hair atop his head before booming out its decision. Albus couldn't help but notice, also, the tone of disdain in James's voice as he spoke of Slytherin House. It was perhaps that more than anything that frightened him about the possibility of being a member of the House himself. Sure, his brother gave him loads of grief, but the two loved each other. The whole family did. If he became a Slytherin, though…

Two more loud thumps sounded at the door. This person did not wait for acknowledgement, but had apparently looked inside and decided it was safe to enter; the door slid open again. A tall Black boy had entered the compartment, sporting dreadlocks about halfway down his back. Albus wondered about the boy's intentions for a second before seeing a gleaming badge standing out against his dark robes.

James's jaw dropped. "Tommy? You're a Prefect this year?"

"Of course not, genius – I stuffed one of the Prefects in a Vanishing Cabinet and nicked his badge," chuckled Tommy. His eyes turned to Albus and Rose. "Alright there, you two? How are you, Rose?"

"I'm alright," she answered with a smile. "Seen Freddy and Roxanne yet?"

"Seen them? Freddy has a new girlfriend, apparently," Tommy sighed, obviously torn between annoyance and amusement. "I already had to tell them to find a compartment if they insisted on snogging each other…"

James made a scoffing noise. Whether it was from amusement or disgust, Albus couldn't tell.

"Well, it _was_ my job to tell you guys to change into your robes because we'd be arriving soon, but you seem to have gotten that message already, so… I think I'll just let myself out," he said, backing toward the door. "Hope to see you both in the crimson and gold in a few hours' time."

He had winked toward Rose and Albus before he departed, sliding the door shut behind him.

"You don't remember Tommy Jordan?" James asked. The somewhat confused look on Albus's face must have been obvious.

"His dad's Freddy and Roxanne's godfather – really good friends with Uncle George," Rose explained. "He called Quidditch matches at Hogwarts back in his day. Still doing it, too – for… I can't remember which club. I don't remember much about Quidditch, to be honest…"

"The Chudley Cannons, I think," James surmised. "He's good at what he does, but some people think he's too much of a homer."

"Speaking of that," started Rose, "are you planning on trying out this year?"

"Probably – but I'm not expecting much," James admitted. "Gryffindor's loaded again. We're returning our whole squad except for one Beater, and I don't play Beater. I think all of them are seventh-years, too. We should be shoe-ins for the Cup this year, especially now Teddy's gone."

Teddy Lupin, Harry's godson, had played Seeker for Hufflepuff for a couple of years and had been pretty decent. He was a Metamorphmagus – a wizard born with the ability to change his appearance at will. He would often entertain the Potter children (and their mother, Ginny) by changing his nose to a pig snout at the dinner table.

"Maybe I'll manage to make reserve this year," James said wistfully. "Reserves are usually first in line to make the team when someone graduates. They're also first in line to play if someone falls a hundred feet from their broom and makes a great mess of themselves on the pitch – not that I'd be hoping for that, of course…"

For Rose, who was already quite pale without any help, had gone ghostly white.

By the time they arrived at Hogsmeade Station, it was late indeed. The moon shimmered bright silver over the throng of disembarking students, glittering like a pearl in the night sky. Stars twinkled here and there excitedly, as if celebrating the students' arrival.

Albus looked around in awe. His father had always said that the area surrounding Hogwarts was a place of uncommon beauty, but only now did Albus understand what his father had meant.

"Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!"

A rough but friendly voice shouted over the pressing throng of children. Albus turned around and saw an utter goliath of a man standing head, shoulders, and torso above the group of children. So ample were his beard and his mane of shaggy, flyaway hair, his head could have easily passed for a freshly killed wild animal.

Albus heard a gasp next to him. Rose was standing there. Her face was again ghostly white with fear as she and her cousin stood there in the moonlight.

Slowly they approached the spot where Hagrid stood. He gave no sign of recognizing them and seemed somewhat absorbed in his duties. Albus was just close enough to see Hagrid's lips moving around within his massive beard. Perhaps, Albus thought, the Headmaster had given Hagrid a list of how many first-years were to start at Hogwarts today, and Hagrid was doing a count. He stopped muttering to himself after a while, and by then the older students (James included) had gone. Only about three dozen or so students remained, most of them quite as small and as nervous-looking as Albus himself.

"Tha's all of 'em," he heard Hagrid mutter under his breath. "A'right, you lot, listen up! Welcome to Hogwarts. Name's Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys an' Grounds – and Care o' Magical Creatures Professor. 'Hagrid' will do – or 'Professor' if yeh must. Anyways… these boats are takin' us across the lake to the castle, so go ahead an' climb in. Three of yeh to a boat – 'less yer summan abou' my size. Any proud half-giants in this crowd o' firs' years?"

There was a pause. Albus looked vaguely behind himself. Clearly no one in this year's class had giant ancestry like Hagrid – they'd have been rather hard to miss.

"All righ', then," Hagrid boomed. Albus couldn't help noticing the small twinge of disappointment in the half-giant's face. "Off we go!"

Albus clambered into the nearest boat. Rose tried to follow him, but she hadn't gotten the feel for walking in her robes yet and toppled forward, crashing into Albus on the way down. As Albus and Rose both peeled themselves off the boat's wooden surface, Albus heard a tinkling laugh. He turned around mutinously. In a boat to the left was another girl who seemed to turn her head away from Albus as he looked. She had a tan color to her skin, and her hair was long, dark, and very curly. She was sharing a boat with two boys; one of them was quite tall and had dark hair. The second was small, even perhaps weedy, and seemed diminished even further in the presence of two obviously strong personalities. His hair was a very light blond that looked almost white in the moonlight. He had the look of a boy that didn't go outside very often.

"Yeah, that's Scorpius," Rose said. She let out a squeak afterward and Albus felt a lurch underneath them. The boats had started moving across the lake of their own accord. A bit sympathetically, she added, "Small, isn't he? I thought he was about Lily's age when I first saw him…"

"Why does he look so nervous?" Albus asked.

"Wouldn't _you_ be nervous? He's like us, but… opposite, I guess," Rose answered. "His grandfather, Lucius, was one of Voldemort's chief supporters at one point. And his father hated our parents while they were all in school. His family's famous for all the wrong reasons."

Albus stared intently at the scared, white-haired boy, who looked up for a moment, caught his eye… then immediately looked away, preoccupying himself with the rippling, black waters of the lake.

James

James started walking down the path to the carriages as soon as he saw that Albus and Rose had made it to Hagrid.

"J.P.!" A yell caused James to start horribly. He whirled around.

"AARGH!" James cried, lightly shoving the boy that had suddenly appeared directly behind him. "Don't do that, you prat!"

The other boy, a twelve-year-old a bit taller than James with longish, light brown hair, laughed in response and punched James on the shoulder.

Richard Murphy – known primarily by his surname – was James's first and best school friend, and a bit of a prankster. He hailed from the area of Belfast, and had the accent to match.

"So, Murph, how was your summer?" James asked. "I thought you were gonna send an owl asking if you could stay for the last couple of days of summer and come to King's Cross with us."

"I was gonna, but…" Murphy muttered. "I kinda got distracted. You see, my grandfather passed away last month."

James frowned. "I didn't know… sorry, mate."

"So… little brother here?" Murphy asked, obviously eager to change the topic. James finally dared to smile.

"Yep. Rose, too. They'll probably be making the trip across by boat right now. What about your little sister?"

"Anna's ten, remember?" Murphy reminded him. "It's next year for her."

"Oh, yeah, that's right," muttered James.

"In any case," Murphy said, his expression becoming solemn again, "I'm just glad she showed after all."

Most wizards, especially those from mostly wizarding families (three of Murphy's grandparents were wizards) 'show' – or display some sign of magic – very early in life. James himself had shown before he could speak full sentences. But Anna had taken a while, and there was the greatest fear among the Murphy family that she would turn out to be a Squib – a child of wizard parents that simply, for whatever reason, couldn't do magic. Not that they would have loved her any less for it; but she – much, much like James's own sister Lily – was a sweet girl, and was excited to start at Hogwarts. It would have been devastating to her if she'd turned out to be a Squib.

James sort of understood. He never said it to Murphy for the fear of making him feel worse, but he'd always thought that, if forced to choose, he would have taken being born as a Muggle over being a Squib. Muggles, for the most part, didn't know about the magical world at all. A Squib raised in a wizarding household would grow up in that world, and yet not part of it. Eventually, most of them managed to integrate themselves into the Muggle world, but even there, they had problems, because they weren't truly Muggles, either.

Thankfully, this all became a moot point around Christmas last year. A bizarre accident involving some charms Murphy's father had set on the Christmas tree resulted in poor Anna's long, shiny, dark brown hair being set ablaze. Somehow, Anna managed to survive the incident with little more than a singed nightgown.

Murphy pretended to be disappointed for a while, going on about how Anna was a chatterbox and would probably annoy the trousers off them when she finally arrived at Hogwarts, but James could tell how happy he and the family were.

"Oh, and another thing," Murphy added. "Cole's taken over as Captain."

"No joke? Wicked!" James shouted with a wide-eyed grin. Cole Murphy was Richard's seventh-year elder brother, who played Keeper for the Gryffindor team. James's parents (who had both been Quidditch players at Hogwarts) always told him he thought Keepers made good Captains because they could see most of the other players at once, more often than not. James couldn't shake the fact that there had been a bit of self-deprecation in that statement, though. His father had been a Quidditch Captain for a year, after all…

"He likes you, of course," Murphy went on, "so you might have a shot at reserve Seeker behind Sean Polkiss."

Sean Polkiss had an interesting connection with the Potters. His father, Piers, was a friend of their Muggle cousin Dudley Dursley, and had been part of the gang of boys that had given Harry no end of grief during his early childhood. As fate would have it, when Piers married and fathered Sean, Sean turned out to be a wizard.

The only thing that would have been more ironic, Harry had said, would have been if Cousin Dudley's own children had happened upon the magic gene. Alas, that fantasy never materialized; Dinah and Derrick Dursley were Muggles of the highest order. Pleasant enough, from what James had gathered of the few visits he'd had with them, but (like their father) unspeakably boring.

"Yeah…" James muttered distractedly. "About that Seeker bit…"

"What's up?"

"No," James said simply. Murphy's face was priceless.

"Are you mental? With your blood? Why not?" he asked.

"You know how many Hogwarts Quidditch Cups my parents have between them?" James asked impatiently. Then, holding up his fingers, he said emphatically, "_Four_. And they'd have more if there hadn't been so much weird stuff going on at Hogwarts while they were in school. Not to mention my mum was in the British and Irish League a few years with the Holyhead Harpies…"

"Yeah, but wasn't she a Chaser?" asked Murphy.

"Well, yeah, but the match everyone remembers her for – the one where the Harpies won the Queen's Cup – she finished as Seeker after Ellie Gilchrist took a Bludger to the forehead," James said flatly. "That's the other reason I don't prefer Seeker, by the way. Bludgers to the forehead – and they always get the piss fouled out of them, too."

"Well – Chasers get fouled," Murphy reasoned.

"Not like Seekers," said James darkly. "I'd rather keep my skull in one piece, thanks, and not have to wake up in the hospital wing after every other match like—"

He'd almost said the magic words: _Like my dad did._

"What's so bad about that?" asked Murphy with a wry smirk on his face. "Especially if you wake up to Nurse Na—_Merlin's cobblers! What the hell is that thing?!_"

They had arrived at the carriages at last, and _something_ had made Murphy jump backward. James was staring straight at the spot where Murphy was staring and saw nothing. In contrast, everyone else in the rather large throng was staring at James and Murphy.

"Excited though you may be, Mr. Murphy, I must insist you try to refrain from such coarse language." A tall, still somewhat young witch was coming toward James and Murphy. She was dressed in robes of resplendent blue and had a matching, tall hat that sat jauntily atop her head. From under that hat came long hair of such a shimmering silvery blonde that James wondered whether this woman, like his Aunt Fleur and her children, had some veela ancestry. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm sorry, Professor Gladstone," murmured Murphy. "But… don't you see that?"

James looked at the spot. He still couldn't see anything. Gladstone turned to look at the exact same spot. Her face grew solemn. "Pulling the carriages? You're seeing them for the first time, are you?"

"Wh-what are they?" Murphy stammered, his voice small. Murphy was brave, even as Gryffindors went. James had never seen him like this.

"Thestrals," she sighed with the air of having to explain something heavy to a small child. "They're normally invisible, but if you've seen death…"

She trailed off and walked away, shouting instructions ("Four to a carriage!") and leaving James and Murphy standing there.

"So you can see Thestrals?" asked James as he and Murphy climbed into a carriage. Murphy wasn't smiling anymore. He looked rattled and close to tears. "Are you okay?"

"I don't want to talk about it, alright?" he murmured, his voice breaking horribly.

Perhaps mercifully, a distraction from their heavy conversation came in the form of a brown-skinned, teenage girl with long, dark hair tied back in a very thick braid.

"Roxanne!" exclaimed James, genuinely a bit surprised.

"Hey, James, Murphy," she sighed, taking a seat next to the former. Joining her was a girl of about thirteen or fourteen with sleek, blonde hair every bit like Professor Gladstone.

"You, too, Dominique?" asked James. As relatively close as he was to Roxanne, he was just that distant from Bill and Fleur's children. The blond-haired Weasley girl let out a long sigh as the carriage started moving. "What's going on?"

"I had to go somewhere," Roxanne answered, splaying out her arms and staring up at the moon. "Freddy and Laurel are unbearable at the moment."

"Victoire and Teddy are worse," contended Dominique. Even though Aunt Fleur had immigrated to Britain and Dominique had been brought up here, James could always hear Dominique's French half whenever she pronounced her 'r's. "I mean, at least with Freddy… Laurel's his first girlfriend."

"Teddy's not Victoire's first boyfriend?" Roxanne asked. Dominique threw her head back and laughed in a somewhat haughty way that reminded James immediately of Aunt Fleur.

.

"Are you kidding? She's had a different one every year," she said. "You know. Boys just go a bit mad around her."

With a smirk, Roxanne said, "Just think… next year with her gone, that'll be you."

"Don't say that," moaned Dominique, looking uncomfortable. "It almost makes me wish I weren't part-veela."

"Does that eighth-part veela blood really make much of a difference?" asked Roxanne. "I mean… it might just be that, well… both of your parents are very good-looking. I don't mean that in an awkward way, obviously, but both Uncle Bill _and _Aunt Fleur…"

James (although wondering if this subject matter was eventually going to make him sick) secretly agreed. It was a mark of how good-looking Bill Weasley was that, even with several great runs missing out of one side of his face (cursed wounds from a werewolf attack), he was still considered to be very handsome.

"Do you girls ever talk about anything but boys?" asked James in exasperation.

"Of course we do – at least, the _real_ ones do," Roxanne scoffed. "You trying out for Quidditch this year, James?"

"Again with the Quidditch questions? You're only about the twelfth person to ask me about Quidditch today," James groaned. "Sure, fine… yes, I'm trying out for Quidditch – but I'm doing Chaser, not Seeker."

"Why not Seeker? You'd have a better shot at making the team at Seeker," reasoned Roxanne. Dominique rolled her eyes.

"How do you figure that?" Murphy suddenly piped in and argued, again seemingly all too happy that the conversation had turned from matters of death. "Cole was telling me that the only open spot on the team is for a Beater. Unless you mean as a reserve – still, though, each team only usually carries one reserve to use as a Seeker..."

"I'm not talking about reserve," Roxanne snapped. "Didn't you hear what happened? Polkiss got into a flying accident over the summer and shattered both of his legs."

James and Murphy's jaws dropped in tandem.

"Yeah, he's in St. Mungo's now and probably won't play at all this season," Roxanne said, grimacing. "Too bad for him, too, this was his seventh year… so you should give Seeker a shot, even if it's not your favorite. Freddy's going out for Beater. He was too intimidated to do it last season, but I guess finding himself a girlfriend gave him an extra shot of courage. Anyway, is Albus planning on trying out?"

"Of course not," James replied, trying hard not to laugh. "Even if they let first-years try out nowadays, they're always long shots at best… and Albus doesn't really have the Quidditch personality type."

Roxanne leaned back in her seat and gave James a 'you-never-know' hike of the eyebrows.

James gazed over Roxanne's head at the retreating forest. He had taken the full force of it in his first year – the questions, the double takes and subtle smiles when a lot of the professors read his name off the role, the sudden befriending from a few upperclassmen who had ambitions of becoming Aurors. He'd even gotten a rather cold reception from the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

It wasn't that James wasn't good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, either. The professor just… well, _hated_ him. Not to mention he just couldn't be fussed to do work that was so far beneath his knowledge level. He dedicated most of his extra time to make up for his deficiencies in Potions and Herbology. As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, he'd probably forgotten more about the subject than most of his first-year peers had ever learned. After all, when one's father has dedicated about half of his life to catching Dark wizards, one tends to learn from him even when he does not always intend to teach. For years, also, Hogwarts had requested him to guest lecture a few of the Defence classes. He was a fair bit more liked and better respected than the regular teacher, and there were whispers that the Heads had been trying for years to get him to take over the course full-time.

James, for his part, was glad that his father wasn't a professor at Hogwarts. He had few enough places in his life where he could be James Sirius Potter, and not simply Harry Potter's son.

That was the lot that life had dealt to him and his family members. They were, one and all, the children of wizards and witches who had made and were continuing to make great contributions to wizarding Britain.

…Even if (James stole a glance at Roxanne and stifled a snigger) that contribution was Britain's foremost wizarding joke shop.

* * *

In case you're wondering, Murphy is NOT a relative of any canon HP character. Trust me, there will be plenty of 'canon babies', as I like to call them, to go around. Is that an awkward term, 'canon baby'? I just pictured someone loading an infant - never mind, you probably don't want to know. I'll find a different term for it. But Murphy's an original character, non-related to anyone in HP canon; that's my point.

There will be a fair share of non-canon children of canon characters as well. Since this story revolves around the post-war generation that's kind of the point. Some of them will be pretty obvious and I'll put them out for all to see. A few of them will be from characters that weren't major to the story but were there nonetheless. And a couple of others (mainly from female canon characters that will have since married and changed their names) will be a bit harder to spot. But that'll be part of the fun of it. :-)

Hope you guys enjoy(ed) this chapter, and I'll be back with another before long. Just to give you an idea, I've already written through five chapters and am almost done with 6, and it appears the story's generating some interest. I might go every week or so until I catch up to where my writing progress is, but it definitely won't be two weeks barring anything unforeseen happening.

Anyway, I've rambled enough.

- MH


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Scorpius's Flight**

~~~~~~~~~~  
Albus  
~~~~~~~~~~

Albus tried not to look straight at Rose as the two clambered into dry land again. Finally, his curious eyes could not resist, and he caught a glance of her walking up the steps behind him, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her new robe. They had come around the edge of the forest next to Hogsmeade Station. The boats had rounded a blind corner, and there stood the castle, a terrifyingly beautiful structure of gray stone that seemed to glow with the combined lights of the pearly moon and its own magical power. Albus wouldn't have been ashamed to admit that it took a few seconds for him to realize that his mouth was open, and a few more seconds to close it. Rose, on the other hand, had burst into tears at the first sight of the castle. Albus was glad he wasn't a girl. All of their emotions seemed to be so much… weightier.

But they were again on solid ground, and Rose seemed to be trying to make herself look smart in preparation for what was coming next. Hagrid led them inside (gasps and murmurs escaped the child wizards and witches as they caught their first sight of the majestic castle interior) and to a rather large staircase. Albus' ears tuned into a conversation that had started behind him.

"So, you know, our fathers played Quidditch together at one point…"

"Really? What position?" came the voice of a girl. It had a ring of bossiness to it.

"Keeper," the boy responded. "He probably could have gone pro, but… politics, you know. The Gryffindor Captain at the time had an inner circle and my father wasn't part of it, so…"

"Is that right?" asked the girl disbelievingly. "Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me. What's your name?"

"McLaggen," the boy answered. "Desmond McLaggen."

Albus saw Rose whirl around and followed suit. He caught sight of the curly-haired, tan-skinned girl again. He wondered to himself about her parents. She looked a bit similar to his cousins Freddy and Roxanne. As for the boy, he was quite tall – even taller now Albus was seeing him up close. Albus had a hard time believing this boy was only eleven; he easily could have passed for a teenager. He had brown hair that was slicked back off his forehead and sat in a curly shag at the base of his neck.

"McLaggen?" Rose asked. "Was your father Cormac McLaggen?"

"The very same," Desmond answered very haughtily. "And who might you be?"

"Rose Weasley," she answered, looking down at her shoes. Albus saw a very noticeable and disturbing change take place on Desmond's face the moment Rose uttered the word 'Weasley.' As soon as it had come, however, it had gone, and Desmond had rounded on Albus.

"And you, nosy?"

"Albus Potter," he answered. A very audible gasp came from the curly-haired girl next to Desmond, whilst the latter's teeth bared in what had to have been the most unfriendly smile Albus had ever seen.

"I see where this is going," Desmond chuckled, still wearing his nasty painted grin. "I see where this is going. But things are going to be different this time around. You're not gonna be able to use your name to have the run of Hogwarts Castle, Potter. I'll make sure of that."

"Says the boy who invokes his father like he's some sort of 'make-life-easy' counterjinx," scoffed the curly-haired girl. Albus had been prepared to hate her after she'd enjoyed a giggle at Rose's expense earlier; but the more she talked, the more Albus came to wonder whether she was really all that bad.

"I'll have you know that my father is a quite influential in the Ministry of Magic, little missy," snapped Desmond. Raising his voice to an unnecessarily high level, he added, "And unlike _some_ people's parents and grandparents, that means actually _working_ in the Ministry, and not just giving them great mounds of Galleons every year!"

He lowered his voice and his gaze to Albus and Rose again. Albus wondered who he'd been staring down.

"As for you lot, the choice is simple," Desmond said condescendingly. "You're either on my side or against me."

"Oh, _please_," drawled the curly-haired girl again. "Who do you think you are?"

Desmond's face became very severe as he rounded on the curly-haired girl, who was well over a head shorter than he. To make the effect even more dramatic, he climbed a step, so as to physically dwarf her even more.

"Don't forget, I know who your old man is now," he said menacingly. "My dad works for Magical Games and Sports… suffice it to say, if you chose to cross me, he could make your lives very difficult."

The curly-haired girl had been wearing a vague smile on her face, as if not taking Desmond seriously. At this comment, however, the smile was gone.

"Are you threatening me?" Her hand went to her robes. "You foul, spineless piece of –"

"First years!" A yell from the top of the stairs could not possibly have been better timed. Albus thought for a moment that he would be caught in the middle of a full-scale duel. And his father had warned him just that very morning against duelling.

_Don't duel until you know how_.

…Which had struck Albus as somewhat ominous in and of itself. He assumed that the standard 'good dad' thing to say would have been "don't duel at all" – and yet, his dad did not say that. Was that perhaps an acknowledgment by his father that conflicts – or, more specifically, the type of conflicts that ended with young wizards shooting curses at each other – were inevitable at Hogwarts? Albus hoped it was a long time before he had to find out the answer to that question.

"First years!" the voice repeated. A tall, slender witch in blue robes was standing at the top of the stairs. "My name is Professor Meridia Gladstone. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Now, in a moment, you all will be entering our Great Hall to be welcomed by the rest of the students and staff, as well as to be Sorted into your Houses. For those of you that do not yet understand that concept, allow me to explain.

"Hogwarts has four Houses, each named after one of the four wizards and witches that founded the school over a thousand years ago: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each of those four founders started their own House, where they selected students based on certain character traits. Nowadays, this tradition is carried on by the Sorting Hat. Each of you will be called to the Great Hall, where the Sorting Hat will be placed upon your heads. It will then choose your House as it sees fit."

Sighs permeated the group of first years. Albus guessed they must have been from the Muggle-born or Muggle-raised, who (like his own father before him) knew next to nothing about the Sorting process until they arrived and had probably heard a wealth of horror stories.

"So we _don_'_t _have to wrestle a troll," he heard a first year boy mutter. "That Freddy bloke was just yanking us around."

Albus had to hide a laugh. He'd heard that story before.

"Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear," Gladstone said loudly. Instantly, the talking ceased. "Some of you – whether by families or friends or stories you've heard on the journey up here – will have been influenced to believe, perhaps, that one House of Hogwarts is decidedly better or worse than the rest. Let me reassure some of you – and warn some others – that this is _not true_. Representing a certain House does not guarantee or preclude greatness, and has _no bearing_ on one's morality. Now, that said…"

She allowed herself a smile. Now that she wasn't being stone-faced and serious, Albus noticed that she was really quite beautiful.

"In addition to my duties as Deputy Headmistress and Charms professor, I also serve as the Head of Ravenclaw House," she said, "and I am anxious this year, as I am every year, to see how many of you the Sorting Hat adds to our number. Now – shall we begin?"

She turned on her heel, and suddenly Albus and Rose found themselves being pushed along in the throng.

"Oi! Quit shoving!" they heard Desmond snarl. A loud laugh rang out from somewhere behind Albus. This time, it was Desmond whom the curly-haired girl had picked as a target for her teasing. Albus, toward the middle of the massive pack, could barely see over the heads of the other first years. The entire throng eventually craned their necks in unison. A huge set of ornate double doors towered over all of them. Albus saw Professor Gladstone draw her wand from inside her robes. She pointed it at the doors as they continued to walk. The huge doors slowly swung open with nary a creak.

Albus couldn't immediately see the entirety of the room (except that it was quite large). On the other hand, the explosion of sound that greeted them might have been enough to wake the late, great Professor Dumbledore from his final resting place out on the castle grounds. Albus thought for a moment that his eardrums had burst. He was finally pushed into the large room, where he was able to take in the sights around him.

If he hadn't been told beforehand that the ceiling of Hogwarts Castle's Great Hall had been bewitched to mirror the night sky outside, Albus wouldn't have believed that the Great Hall had a ceiling at all. The walls were impossibly high, even without the starry sky above giving the impression that they were reaching up into the heavens themselves. Four tables were lined up lengthwise down the hall, and seemed to stretch on forever. Above each of those tables hung banners and trimmings, each with a different pair of colors and an animal. Over one table were green, silver, and a serpent; over another, yellow, black, and a badger; over a third, blue and bronze, and an eagle.

The fourth table had crimson, gold, and a profile of the head of a ferocious, majestic lion. Albus caught sight of familiar face after familiar face at this last table. None of them seemed able to see him, although it certainly wasn't for lack of trying. He caught a glimpse of James standing atop his seat whilst the others clapped and cheered.

"Thank you! Thank you!" a squeak of a voice reverberated across the Great Hall. The voice itself was so tiny in quality and high in pitch, Albus was almost sure that some sort of magic must have been involved to make it so loud. The first year students stopped. Gladstone ascended the dais, upon which was a chair. Upon that chair was a beaten, ancient-looking hat. Aside from being old, it was frayed and appeared to have scorch marks, as if it had been saved from a fire at one point. Albus gazed past this peculiar sight and into its background. A table spanning the width of the Great Hall stood proudly, elevated over the other four and full of adult wizards and witches.

Directly in front of the table, between it and the chair with the Sorting Hat, was a podium. Albus noticed that it had several stairs leading up to it. Atop those stairs was a quite old dwarf of a wizard with wispy, white hair. Albus couldn't tell from this distance, but he supposed the old wizard would have come up to his navel, if that.

"My name is Professor Filius Flitwick, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" the tiny wizard announced. Albus began to tune the old professor out after this, though; he was busy looking around at each of the four tables and starting to wonder again, in earnest, which one would be welcoming him in a few minutes' time.

Albus's attention was brought back for a moment as something not surprising, but nonetheless extraordinary happened. An extra brim opened on the hat like a mouth and a deep, booming voice issued from it in song. Albus had been prepared for this, though. His father and James had both told him that the Sorting Hat did this every year, and while the lyrics were often different, the messages of the songs were the same. The Hat always started by explaining the origins of the school, and the four founders, which led to the four Houses and the qualities valued in each of them. Then it would preach for a while about how the House competition was meant to be friendly and how the Houses weren't actually supposed to hate each other. Albus caught lines of the song that emphasized all of those points.

Albus turned, despite himself, to the green-and-silver-adorned Slytherin table. Students sat there in droves (and, Albus noticed, the House colors on ties accenting their black robes), all eyeing the Hat as it went on with its song. Albus didn't quite know what he'd been expecting, but what he saw at the Slytherin table was not it. Their lot looked no different from the students at the Hufflepuff table, or at the Ravenclaw table. If their House-colored accents had been stripped from their uniforms, Albus wouldn't have been able to tell they were Slytherins. A few had smiles on their faces and were talking animatedly, pointing discreetly at the crowd of first years and probably wondering which of the new students would be joining their table soon.

"ALBERTINE, MATTHIAS!"

Albus jumped. A somewhat pudgy boy, trembling with nervousness, had seated himself on the lone chair. Professor Gladstone was lowering the Sorting Hat over his head, and then over his eyes. Safe for a few whispers here and there, the Great Hall had gone silent. It was a bit eerie, to hear this little noise from this many people.

"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat broke the silence by booming. One of the tables exploded with cheers and applause as Professor Gladstone removed the hat from the boy's head. Albus had to suppress a laugh again. A Ravenclaw Matthias Albertine might have been, but his face had turned so green, he could have blended in with the banners of Slytherin.

"Axelrod, Yancey!" went to Ravenclaw as well. The first girl (whose surname started with a 'B' and was hard to pronounce) went into Hufflepuff. Then –

"BLETCHLEY, PHILLIP!" …. "SLYTHERIN!"

The boy threw the Sorting Hat off (it let out a cry of surprise and Gladstone caught it, smirking in amusement) and sprinted to the Slytherin table, who welcomed him with raucous cheers and pats on the back. Albus stared at the table again. There was nothing for it. The Slytherin table seemed as nice and as friendly as any other wizards or witches – to their own, at the very least. It didn't look for a second like the next Voldemort was sitting somewhere at that table.

_But then again, _said the nasty, little voice in Albus's head, _Voldemort didn't look like Voldemort when he was here at Hogwarts. Here, he was simply Tom Riddle… Slytherin._

"CONRAD, IRIS!"

A quite small girl with very dark hair and slanted eyes had seated herself on the chair…

~~~~~~~~~~  
James

James craned his neck around Murphy to see the tiny, little girl.

"Aww… she's so cute," Roxanne Weasley uttered from opposite him at the Gryffindor table, with the air of describing a small kitten. The small girl certainly had a quiet, timid demeanor. Nearly her whole head disappeared under the Sorting Hat, prompting scattered sniggers from the Great Hall.

"…RAVENCLAW!" The Sorting Hat decided. The small girl flashed a smile that was obviously one of relief, and calmly sat the Hat down on the chair before traipsing down the stairs to join her new House.

"What's wrong, J.P.?" Murphy asked. It was only then that James noticed he was frowning.

"Conrad… Conrad…" he was muttering to himself. "C'mon, James, you prat, where've you heard that name before…?"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Sorting Hat yelled, breaking James's focus. The boy wizard cringed.

"There we go!" blurted out a voice from James's left. Roxanne looked in that direction as well. Freddy Weasley was the shouter, his warmly-tinted brown hair out behind his head in short dreads that looked like nothing compared to those of Tommy Jordan (who sat directly next to him).

"What are you celebrating for?" Roxanne asked, watching her twin brother clap every bit as enthusiastically as the Hufflepuff table itself.

"That's Lilith Cross – Laurel's little sister," Freddy explained, grinning. "Laurel _really_ wanted Lilith in Hufflepuff with her."

Tommy Jordan leaned back over Freddy's head to look at Roxanne without Freddy seeing. The two grinned and shook their heads in tandem.

"What _I_ want to know is," Tommy muttered, looking troubled. "Where are the –"

The Sorting Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" for the first time.

"Finally!" Tommy shouted, erupting into applause with the rest of the table. He stood up, presumably to greet Gryffindor's newest student. When enough Gryffindors sat down for James to finally see, he glimpsed a girl with dark blonde hair walking over toward a sixth year girl James recognized as one of the two senior Prefects.

"Name was Nina Edgerton," Tommy explained, looking with a knowing glint in his eye at James and Murphy. "Muggle-born… and got her letter late, to boot, so she's got no supplies. She might have to borrow…"

Tommy gave the two second years a click of the tongue and a wink. James didn't get it.

"SLYTHERIN!" Another chorus of cheers rose from the far table. A much too burly girl with much too strong of a jaw went to the table, looking imposing. Instead of searching for a seat, she planted herself over the table when she decided she'd had enough of standing. She'd settled over a couple of boys James recognized as being Slytherins from his own year. Both of them were smaller than she by a margin. They slid down, giving her a wide berth.

"Merlin's pants, look at her!" uttered Tommy, who sounded genuinely frightened. "Anybody catch the surname?"

"Marsha Flint, I think the Hat said," Murphy said loudly, turning around toward Tommy.

"Flint?" uttered Freddy. "A guy named Flint was the Slytherin Captain the year Mum and Dad won the Cup with Uncle Harry. You don't think…?"

"What?" Tommy uttered. Dreads went everywhere as he shook his head. "The way my Dad put it, Flint had a face uglier than a goblin's arse – erm, excuse my _French_…"

Dominique, who was sitting a few seats down from the others and looking bored, looked up reproachfully at Tommy. Roxanne and the boys, on the other hand, all stifled sniggers at once.

"Then again…" Tommy put an arm around Freddy. "If Frederick here can land a girl, I guess anything's possible…"

Freddy responded by smacking Tommy's hand away and giving him a quite rude request.

"Ah, ah, ah, watch that tongue, Frederick," Tommy chuckled. Puffing out his chest, he said, "I'm a Prefect now, remember? You don't want Gryffindor to be in the negative before term even starts."

"Dock points from your own House?" A wry grin came over Freddy's face. "And from your best friend, on top of that? You don't have the stones—"

"Oh, really, now? Feeling hard enough to test that theory, Frederick?"

James became lost in the repartee between his cousin and Tommy. ("HUFFLEPUFF!") The two were sons of childhood best friends, who had grown up best friends themselves. Their exchanges were always good value, especially when Roxanne chimed in every now and again with a quip of her own.

Freddy sat back all of a sudden.

"Damn alphabetical order," he sighed. "It always takes forever when a Weasley gets sorted. Wonder how little Rosie's doing down there?"

"I'm sure she's fine," Roxanne remarked. "It's Albus _I'm_ worried about."

James frowned; for as much grief as he'd given his little brother over it, he knew deep down that he'd be disappointed if Albus ended up anywhere other than Gryffindor.

"LESTER, ROWAN!" the Hat shouted. A thin weed of a boy approached the chair and had the Sorting Hat placed upon his head. His light brown hair had a thatched, messy appearance that indicated, perhaps, that wearing hats was not at all foreign to him. There was a couple seconds' pause, then – "GRYFFINDOR!"

"That's two!" shouted Tommy. He and Freddy high-fived each other, with the latter calling out "Gryffindors rule!" over the applause. Tommy jumped away from the table and straightened immediately. He gave Rowan Lester a rather stiff, professional shake of the hand. Then he pulled the younger boy close like a little brother and whispered something into his ear – something that made the young boy's eyes brighten immediately. They pulled apart, and Rowan went toward the end of the table, leaving Tommy with a smile. James had seen this usually-hidden side of Tommy Jordan before, and he knew that it was this that Professor Flitwick had seen when he decided to make Tommy a Gryffindor Prefect.

"Half-blood, that one – but Muggle-raised," Tommy explained as he sat down. "Dad was a Draconologist… died in the field when Rowan was a baby."

Freddy frowned. "Maybe that's why Uncle Charlie never married…"

"How do you know all this stuff?" James finally had to ask.

"McGonagall passed a new statute right before she retired," Tommy explained. "The Prefects now receive a list of the names and a bit of background on all the incoming first years. It prepares us better to deal with them on a personal level."

"Well…" Freddy uttered. "That's brilliant!"

"She found the inspiration from Dumbledore's secret notes. It was actually his idea, from years and years ago," Tommy said. "He came up with it back in the 1960's, but… the climate wasn't right back then. Too much sanguinism."

"Sanguinism?" uttered James, met with a term he'd never heard before.

"Blood purity discrimination," Tommy said, frowning. "We only started making really huge leaps forward in that area when… well, you know what happened better than I do, probably."

He grinned at James.

"MACK, ADRIANA! …HUFFLEPUFF!" the Sorting Hat boomed. Next was "MACK, ALEXANDER! …HUFFLEPUFF!" then –

"MACK, ANDREW!"

Freddy's and Roxanne's jaws dropped. This one took a couple of seconds, but eventually –

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Whoa!" exclaimed Freddy in astonishment as the Hufflepuff table exploded into applause and excited chatter. Murmuring filled the rest of the Great Hall as well. Everyone seemed to recognize the singularity of what they had just seen. "Blimey, look at that! Wizarding _triplets_! How often does that ever happen?"

"Not very," said Tommy. "It's even rarer than a baby being born with one of the Gifts."

"They're all in the same house, too," Roxanne commented. "Which isn't surprising, really, Houses run in families, but still…"

"MALFOY, SCORPIUS!"

The Great Hall went silent.

"Malfoy?" James heard Freddy whisper. "Surely that's not –"

"Who else could it be?" Tommy responded. "How many bloody Malfoys are there in the world?"

Scorpius Malfoy approached the Sorting Hat, his trembling obvious even from this great distance. His face, as white as fresh snow, disappeared under the old hat.

A couple of seconds passed.

"What's taking so long?" James muttered. "Why isn't it saying 'Slytherin' already?"

The Hat's mouth-like brim opened—

"NOOOOOOOO!" a great and terrible scream burst forth from the boy. In one swift motion, he'd torn the hat from his head and slung it aside to the ground. He leapt from the dais to the floor in one bound. The unsorted students spread away from him like he carried some plague. Albus pulled Rose out of the way at the last moment. Scorpius stumbled over them, and in a dead sprint, he was gone from the Great Hall, leaving only his echoing wails behind him.

Mixed murmurs, whispers and even a bit of laughter followed.

"Awkward," murmured Murphy.

"What the hell was that about?" asked Tommy.

"I'm betting the Hat just tried to put him in Ravenclaw or something," James scoffed.

Professor Gladstone took a tentative step down from the dais and seemed not to know what to do for a moment. The furtive murmuring continued, until –

CRUNCH.

Half the staff jumped to their feet. The quite large fellow at the end of the staff table had leaned on it a bit too heavily, and two of the table's legs had buckled under his weight. A young wizard – young for a Professor, at least – was standing next to the great mountain of a man, looking up at him in disbelief. He was well-built, but had a round, friendly face. He whipped out his wand –

"_Reparo_!" he exclaimed. With another _snap,_ the legs of the table came back together and the table was whole again. He paused briefly, then – "Damn it, Hagrid, that's the third year in a row!"

Most of the Great Hall – some of the teachers included – burst into peals of laughter while Hagrid continued to stand, smiling sheepishly with his head down.

"Sorry abou' tha'… sorry, sorry," James could see him mouthing repeatedly. The young professor was shaking his head, patting Hagrid on one of his massive arms, and was obviously trying not to laugh.

_Don't forget to give Neville our love! _His mother's voice from earlier that day rang in his head. James grinned.

"Ho, ho, ho," Flitwick laughed squeakily. "Ahem. Shall we move on, then? He hasn't gone far. We can attend to him later."

Professor Gladstone was already holding the Sorting Hat. She placed it onto the chair, and it seemed as ready to move on as everyone else: "MCLAGGEN, DESMOND!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Lion's Gain**

~~~~~~~~~~  
**Albus**  
~~~~~~~~~~

"MCLAGGEN, DESMOND!" the Sorting Hat roared.

Albus watched as the tall, robust boy from earlier walked – or more like strutted – up to the chair. He turned on his heel (with a showy and completely unnecessary flip of his robes) and sat down slowly as if he were assuming a throne. Gladstone's face remained impassive throughout this whole display, and when he was ready at last, she slowly lowered the Sorting Hat over his head –

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Seriously?!" Albus heard Rose blurt out next to him as the Gryffindor table applauded. The Hat had scarcely touched Desmond's greased hair before announcing its decision. Albus watched the Gryffindor table. Tommy Jordan had jumped up to greet Desmond, but Desmond passed him by and seemed (or at least pretended) not to notice the gesture. Tommy stood there awkwardly for a moment before retaking his seat.

Albus glanced at the Slytherin table for the third time. Everyone was taking turns talking to Phillip Bletchley. Aside from Marsha Flint, who was scowling down into the table, the Slytherin students were all lavishing their attention on the newcomer.

"NOTT, TELLIUS!" the Hat shouted. A stringy boy with dark hair now sat upon the chair with the Hat over his face. It took a moment, but not a particularly long moment – "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table roared again in celebration. _What's so bad about them, really?_ Albus found himself thinking. Even as another cheer rose from the Gryffindor side as "O'Connell, Elizabeth" was added to their house and Albus realized that his name would be coming up soon, the dread in his heart had started to shrink, like a plant shriveling in dry desert heat.

"POTTER, ALBUS!"

Rose gripped his arm for a moment and then let go. Whispers and murmurs followed him up the dais, as he knew they would; he'd always known. It wasn't enough that his father's accomplishments during his own school years had become the stuff of legends and childhood bedtime tales; but the Potter name still carried much weight in the wizarding world today. Harry Potter was the Head of the Auror Office, and after about a decade on the job, thought to be one of the best to hold that position in years. His battling abilities had been precocious as a teenager; two-plus decades of experience in defeating and capturing Dark wizards had honed him into a master duelist with perhaps the quickest wand draw in all of Britain.

The hundreds of faces staring at Albus Potter all disappeared into darkness.

_I knew it was only a matter of time. _The Sorting Hat was speaking to him. Albus's parents had warned him it would do that as well. This time around, it still made him nervous. _Another son of the great wizarding hero –_

_My name is Albus, _he thought in reply, already annoyed at the Hat. _Albus Severus Potter._

_Albus Severus Potter,_ the Hat repeated slowly. There was a slight tone of amusement in its voice. _With a name like that, wizardkind's hopes for you must be high indeed. How, might I ask, do you expect to meet them? As you must know already, I am duty-bound to… strongly suggest which House would help you on that road…_

_It's all the same to me, _Albus responded, a bit more confidently than he felt. _Put me in Slytherin if you really want. I don't care._

_You don't mean that, do you? _ the Hat replied cajolingly. _You care more than anything. It's been on your mind for weeks – months, even._

_It doesn't matter,_ Albus thought. _I'll make my mark wherever I go. That's what I've decided. _

_Count me impressed. To face your fears at so young an age… and to truly master them, if only for a pivotal moment… that shows courage – courage that could only be worthy of – _"GRYFFINDOR!"

Another bomb of sound exploded in the Great Hall. As the Sorting Hat came off his head, Albus sat frozen on the chair for a moment. So prepared had he been to hear any one of the other three Houses, the Sorting Hat's selection truly caught him off guard. It was only after a gentle pat on the back from Professor Gladstone that Albus moved from the chair. The Gryffindor table was going absolutely mental with celebration. Some of them had begun to raise sideways fists into the air. Eventually, enough of them followed suit that it looked like the majority of the table was giving the same gesture. A chorus of repeated roars rose forth from the Gryffindors. Albus noticed some of them were holding their wands in the air, almost as one would hold a sword.

Albus, with a jolt, turned his head to the end of the staff table as he realized what was happening. Professor Neville Longbottom was half-standing, sheepishly patting the air to try to calm his House. Albus watched Professor Longbottom smile at the Gryffindors and descended from the dais.

"All right, all right," Flitwick's magically-magnified voice squeaked through the din. "Yes, we are appreciative as always of Professor Longbottom. However, there _are_ other students to be Sorted, and as I'm well aware you Gryffindors will likely celebrate your newest additions later tonight as only Gryffindors can, I should thank you to hold yourselves in until then."

The noise died down to an appreciative murmur. Albus finally caught the eye of Professor Longbottom, who gave him a nod and a grin. Next to him, Hagrid had pulled up a corner of the table cloth and was dabbing clumsily at his face with it.

The Gryffindor table was still buzzing when Albus arrived. He determined not to look at anyone. For the moment, he wanted to be with family. He had tonight and at least a whole year – perhaps seven whole years – to meet other Gryffindors. James was already on his feet when Albus arrived. Wordlessly, he shifted over a few feet, allowing Albus to settle in between him and another boy.

"Gryffindor," said James, smirking. "Never doubted it for a second, Al."

"Oh, shut up," Albus replied, a bit louder than he'd intended; Freddy and Roxanne laughed. All of a sudden, Albus found a hand being shoved into his face, asking to be shaken.

"Al Potter." The speaker was the boy directly to Albus's right. Albus wasn't personally acquainted with any Irish people, but he'd heard the accent enough times to recognize it immediately. Albus took the proffered hand and shook it. "Rick Murphy's the name. I'm a mate of your brother's."

"Yeah, I remember James talking about you," Albus responded, recognizing that the name rang a bell.

"I thought I'd finally meet you and Lily this past summer, but…" Murphy trailed off. "Well, we know each other now, so no harm done, right?"

Albus smiled.

He happened to glance back up at the table, looking for Hagrid and Professor Longbottom's eyes again. He did not find them. Looking straight at him, however (as a vaguely foreign-looking girl by the surname of Rama became a Ravenclaw), was a bespectacled wizard. The expression he was wearing seemed a bit unpleasant.

"What's wrong with him?" Albus muttered. "James… hey, James?"

James had been preoccupied with the arrival of "STANTON-ELLSWORTH, MATILDA!" into Ravenclaw House and hadn't been paying attention.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Who's that guy?" Albus pointed him out. "Two to the right of Neville."

"Oh…" James frowned.

It was Tommy instead who answered. "That'd be Professor Malcolm. He's been the Defence Against the Dark Arts guy for… oh, about two, three years now. Not that he's not competent, but… if the Board of Governors had its way…"

"Dad would be here instead," James finished, not sounding very pleased about the idea. "Like Tommy said, Malcolm knows what he's doing, but…"

"Shut it, you guys!" snapped Roxanne all of a sudden. "Don't you know who's getting Sorted soon?"

"VAISEY, STEPHAN!"

A boy – at least Albus assumed so by the name – had seated himself on the chair. He looked a bit like one of those angel children; his hair was golden blond, only a shade darker than Professor Gladstone's – but very nearly as long.

"Ravenclaw House for sure," he heard Freddy mutter. "The Sorting Hat never talks about it, but Ravenclaw picks for looks just about as much as for brains."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"What?" Freddy uttered before he could stop himself. The applause seemed stilted, as if the Gryffindor table didn't quite know what to think of this particular newcomer. Albus looked toward the throng of first years, only to find that it no longer existed. It had dwindled down to a handful of witches, Rose's bushy hair obvious among them. His brain drifted for a moment; with no boys left, he now knew the names of the three wizards with which he would share a room for the better part of the next seven years:

Rowan Lester, Stephan Vaisey, and (Albus winced at the thought) Desmond McLaggen.

_Well_, he thought, _they can't all be gems…_

"WALTER, FRIEDA!" A girl approached the Sorting Hat, her loosely curled, dark red hair tied back in a ponytail. "SLYTHERIN!"

She yanked off the hat and tried to run down to her new table. However, her robes decided to fight her – on the second step from the bottom, she toppled, letting out a clipped squeal. So loud and emphatic was the collective gasp, Albus thought for a moment that all the air would be sucked out of the Great Hall.

"Blimey!" exclaimed James, his jaw agape.

A red head bounced up from the ground, the rest of the girl following it.

"I'm okay!" she squeaked. Appreciative laughter filled the Great Hall as she settled into a seat at the Slytherin table, her face now as red as her hair.

But Albus's attention was turned to another redhead –

"WEASLEY, ROSE!"

Even Dominique's head perked up and she turned around, her eyes trained on the dais where Rose was settling down into the chair. Albus felt a slight nudge from his brother.

"You realize she'll probably be Ravenclaw, right?" he heard James whisper.

Albus's heart sank, because James was absolutely right. It wasn't to say that Rose wasn't brave at all, but… she wasn't exactly what one would call 'tough'. She was a bit timid around others and could be a bit weepy. At any rate, her mind was her greatest strength by far.

_Oh, well_… Albus thought. _At least she'd have Victoire…for a year._

The more Albus thought about it, that wasn't such a comfort. Victoire, being so much older, wasn't particularly close with her cousins.

"Poor Rosie," Roxanne murmured. "This is taking a while, isn't it?"

It had indeed been over a minute, which Albus could only imagine felt like several eternities to Rose, who was gripping the seat as if it were a lifeline, whilst the Hat remained silent.

Whispers started to permeate the Hall. Albus wondered how many of the whisperers were using the word "Hatstall". Albus could have sworn that he saw the Sorting Hat's brim-mouth contort in a pensive grimace, then –

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Roxanne let out a squeal and started clapping along with the rest of Gryffindor House. Rose jumped up and cast the Sorting Hat aside, obviously eager to be out of the spotlight as quickly as possible. Unlike her predecessor, she kept her footing and came down along the far side of the Gryffindor table at a dead sprint. Albus looked around for one of the witch Prefects, wondering if Rose would even stop to be greeted. They were standing up further down the table, but Rose seemed to have no intention of going anywhere near them. She made a beeline straight for Roxanne and nearly knocked her to the ground with a half-hug, half-tackle. Roxanne patted her on the back of the head as she sobbed quite audibly. The boys all exchanged awkward smiles. Tommy slid down, allowing Roxanne to help Rose into her seat. What little Albus could see of Rose's face was very red and contorted.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shouted hoarsely and with an obvious sense of relief. A young witch with dark skin and somewhat high cheekbones went over to join the Slytherin table. She and Marsha Flint eyed each other with an air of distaste for a moment. A tall, black-haired witch Prefect, perhaps sensing danger, came to escort the dark-skinned first year to another spot at the table. Albus watched her settle down between the Prefect and Frieda Walter, who had just been sorted moments before.

"And with that," Flitwick's voice announced, "this year's Sorting is complete."

Albus looked back behind himself as he stood near the head of a small group of students as all of them walked toward Gryffindor Tower. The senior prefects had been sent ahead with the second- through seventh years. The two junior Prefects (Tommy and a fifth year girl named Greta Stanford) were to follow a few minutes behind, leading the new Gryffindor first years up to the common room.

A relatively new tradition that had started – apparently after the war and after his father's time here – was for the other students of each House to throw a Welcoming Party for the new first year students and the new Prefects. James (standing next to Albus) had been allowed to stay behind as an immediate family member of a new student.

"Now, it's gonna be loud, so brace yourselves," Tommy called from the front of the line as they approached the portrait of a lavishly dressed, very fat woman.

"Password?" she asked in a faux-regal tone.

"Old Toby!" exclaimed Tommy confidently. The portrait swung open –

A loud rush of noise assaulted Albus's embattled eardrums for the umpteenth time that evening. Gryffindors of every year were crowded around this circular hole, most of them with their fists in the air with the same pose he had seen after he was Sorted.

"Get out of it, you lot!" Tommy yelled, suddenly annoyed. "I've got about a dozen behind me, give us some room! Pike, turn that bloody thing off for a second!"

Loud music that had been among the sounds exploding forth from the Gryffindor common room suddenly went silent.

"Most of you lot know me already, I'm Thomas Jordan," he announced whilst James, Albus, and the other first years waited outside.

"Can he do this when we get in?" McLaggen's voice –

"Oh, stuff it, McLaggen!" …and there was the curly-haired girl again. She'd been sorted into Gryffindor, but Albus hadn't been paying attention at the moment and didn't realize it until the first years broke off into this group.

"This lovely beauty of a witch here is—" Tommy went on, but the female Prefect cut him off.

"Thanks, Jordan, I can introduce myself. I'm Greta Stanford," she said. "And we're honored to serve Gryffindor House as its two newest Prefects this year."

Raucous applause followed Greta's statement. Tommy must have found some way to get the Gryffindors quiet again, because he soon said, "But enough about us – you know us already. Let's meet the real reason we're all here – our newest batch of Gryffindors!"

The explosion of noise that had stopped so suddenly on Tommy's cue had restarted, up to including the wizard rock band that had been playing in the background. Tommy turned his head and nodded. Albus made to move forward, but he was bumped—

"Oi!" shouted James as the largest of the first years clambered through the portrait hole. James stared at Desmond's rear end mutinously for a moment before climbing in himself, beckoning Albus to follow behind him. The Gryffindor common room was just as James had described it to him – warm and inviting, with a fireplace standing out among its many furnishings. Red-and-gold flags and drapes – more than usual, Albus had a feeling – hung down from the high ceilings. A large House crest seemed to be plastered to the ceiling, alternating sparks of light in matching colors.

It was quite crowded, with most, if not all of the Gryffindors gathered inside. Albus found himself being slapped on the arms and shoulders by random, reaching hands. An almighty beast's roar came from the left. James jumped into Albus, nearly knocking him over. Albus yelped as he caught sight of the large head of a lion. It took a moment (and James shoving the head away) for Albus to realize it was a fake, attached to a quite human body.

"Whoa!" he heard his older brother exclaim, looking startled. "Wait… that's _wicked!_ How'd you do that?"

And with that, James was gone.

The illusion of order had long since been abandoned. First years were scattered everywhere in the common room, all introducing themselves to each other or older students.

"You know, my dad ate a pound of doxy eggs for a bet once," he heard Desmond McLaggen chatting to a bunch of older students, who seemed to be looking at him with genuine interest. "Ended up in the hospital wing for a week… but he won the bet."

"Potter! Albus Potter!" one of the older students noticed him. He winced. He didn't mind talking to older students, but he wasn't too keen on being near Desmond. Reluctantly, he trudged over in that direction. Most of the students seemed to be in the second- or third year range. The boys in particular towered over him.

"Em…" Albus stammered.

"I was Muggle-born," said the older student, "so I didn't know a single spell when I stepped into Hogwarts. Not – one – effing – spell, you hear me? I envy guys like you. I bet you got here knowing about fifty brilliant curses, didn't you?"

"Dad didn't teach me many spells before this," Albus admitted. "Only the one. _Ex—"_

"The Disarming Charm?" Desmond sighed, rolling his eyes. "As if that's gonna help anyone in a real fight."

"Well…" one of the older students murmured, "you can't curse someone if you don't have a wand in your hand."

"Oh, you _can_," another student replied. "You just have to be good. I mean, _really _good. Like, Flitwick-level good."

"Oh, but Flitwick wouldn't curse anybody!" a girl piped in.

"Just 'cause he wouldn't doesn't mean that he can't."

"So do you play Quidditch?" another student – another girl – asked.

"I have, but…" Albus murmured.

"What position are you going out for?"

"You gonna be a Seeker like your dad? I mean, I've seen pictures of him in the trophy hall – you two look _just _alike –"

"His mum played, too. Gryffindor went back-to-back for the Cup with her on the team."

"OI!" Desmond snapped. Everyone looked at him, which seemed to have been his aim. "I'll be going out. I'm more the Beater type, but my father was the best Keeper Gryffindor had seen in years."

"I heard Gryffindor got flattened in the match where your dad played Keeper –"

"I didn't say he won the most games," said Desmond, his ears turning red. "It's not his fault the other members of the team were incompetent –"

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" a loud shout caught the entire group's attention. Albus's heart leapt – a strange sort of lurching leap that made him feel all at the same time happy and sick. The curly-haired girl was stomping over to the group, her dark, somewhat heavily-lidded eyes locked on Desmond in a stare of pure venom.

"I _said_ that the other members of my father's team were incompetent," Desmond snapped.

"Well, my father was part of that team," the girl said, her hands on her hips.

"That's too bad, isn't it?" hissed Desmond, staring down at her imperiously. "Maybe that's why he became an arbiter and not a player. But then, we may never know. A _certain Quidditch captain_ liked to play favorites, so your dear old dad got stuck as a reserve, too."

Desmond looked up at the others.

"Come talk to me if you're ever in the mood to get your head out of the Potters' arse," he said, his lip curling nastily. He stalked off. The throng of older students began to disperse, too.

Albus felt all the wind sucked out of the party and had half a mind to leave in order to try to find his bed. However, the curly-haired girl turned to him at last, smiling brightly.

"We haven't been properly introduced, have we?" she asked, extending her hand. "My name's Sylvia. Sylvia Thomas."

Albus shook her hand, a bit confused. She was speaking as if she expected the name 'Thomas' to jog something in Albus's memory.

"Your parents know my dad," she explained. "Actually, your mum knows him pretty well."

Albus's brows furrowed. The girl rolled her eyes, seemingly astounded that Albus didn't get this hint.

"What I mean to say is," she went on, sounding exasperated. "They were together once. Involved. Romantically, I mean."

Albus's jaw dropped in shock, but he managed to turn it into a short utterance of "…Oh."

"I've seen pictures of your dad – everyone has, I guess," Sylvia said. She'd taken to twirling some of her curly, black hair around one of her fingers. Albus thought it was quite distracting. "You look just like him, you know."

"I get that a lot," he muttered, not meeting Sylvia's eyes. Her announcement that his mum, Ginny, and her father had once been an item had instantly made this conversation quite awkward. He didn't know what she'd meant by it, telling him that right off.

"So, that Rose girl…" Sylvia said. Albus looked up at her, his jaw tightening a bit as he remembered something.

"You laughed at her earlier," he said. "As we got on the boats."

"You sure can hold a grudge, can't you?" she asked. "So I guess I was right. Her name's Weasley, and your mum's birth name was Weasley – so you're kin somehow, right?"

"She's my cousin," Albus replied.

"And everyone else named Weasley, too? I've met three others."

Albus nodded, realizing that she was probably talking about Freddy, Roxanne, and Dominique. "All my family."

"You sure are lucky," she said, staring at a spot in the common room. Albus (despite himself) followed her gaze and realized it was where James, Rose, Roxanne, Freddy, and even Dominique were gathered in a small group. "All my cousins are Muggles. Oh, well. I guess I'll see you some point soon? We have all our classes together."

"Yeah," murmured Albus distractedly.

The party burned itself out after about an hour or so. Students began dispersing up to their bedrooms. Albus (on direction from Greta – Tommy had been called out of the common room) had ascended a quite long staircase to find a door adorned with a Gryffindor crest. Under the crest was a gold-plated placard, engraved with the words "FIRST YEARS."

A bit gingerly, Albus pushed the door open. Several four-poster beds were arranged in a rough circle around the room, all of them with Gryffindor-themed bedding and curtains. One of these beds was currently being pounded underfoot by a small, thatch-haired boy, who was laughing.

"Wow!" he cried in delight as he threw his feet out from under himself and hit the bed rump-first. "This is _way_ better than my bed back home!"

"Hey…" a boy on the other side had sat up. Despite his appearance, there was just enough trace of masculine tone in the boy with the long, blond hair, now that Albus was hearing him talk for the first time. "You're Albus Potter. Harry Potter's son, right?"

Albus nodded. He'd learned not to be uptight about people greeting him that way. _After all, _he'd always told himself, _it's what's going to happen, so you might as well get used to it for a while._

"And you're, um… Stephan Vaisey?" he asked. The boy nodded.

"Who's Harry Potter?" the small boy on the bed to Albus's left asked curiously.

"My dad," answered Albus with a chuckle. After all, that's how Albus knew him, no matter what anyone else said otherwise.

"You don't know who Harry Potter is, Rowan?" Vaisey seemed astounded. "My dad tells me about him all the time!"

"That's just it," the young boy said. He jumped off the bed. "I was raised by my mother and grandmother. They weren't… you know, like us. Muggles, I think you guys call them…"

"Ah," Vaisey nodded understandingly. "That'd explain it. So you're Muggle-born, then?"

"What, does that matter?" Rowan asked nervously.

"Heck, no, it doesn't matter!" Vaisey replied fiercely. Albus smiled – he liked this guy already. "I was just curious."

"Muggle-born means… both your parents were Muggles, right?" Rowan asked, turning to Albus, who nodded. Rowan, conversely, shook his head. "Strange, that… my dad died when I was a baby. Never told my mum he was a wizard. I just got my stuff yesterday – wand and everything. Mrs. – er, Professor – um, the Sorting lady took me through Diagon Alley."

"Professor Gladstone?" uttered Albus. "Well, that was nice of her."

"But I don't know any magic!" Rowan cried, and it sounded like he was about to break down.

"You'll be fine," Albus said. "Listen…"

Albus walked over to a bed close to a window and sat down on it. The moon's light was coming in white and pearly. With a quick jolt of the heart, he remembered his father telling him that his bed at Hogwarts had been next to a window. Had this been the same bed? "My dad was raised by Muggles – mean ones, too – and he turned out alright."

"What? Harry Potter was raised by Muggles?" It was Vaisey who had spoken. Albus looked back into the room. Both Vaisey and Rowan had sat bolt upright on their beds, eyeing Albus with expression of wonder. He felt, not for the first time that evening, as if a spotlight had been shone upon him.

"Well… yeah – you didn't know that?" he uttered.

"No," Vaisey said sincerely, shaking his head. "I always assumed another wizard family took him in or something."

Albus smiled. "One did… sorta… but that was only after he came to Hogwarts."

"So you're telling us, your dad, the great Harry Potter, came up as a Muggle, came to Hogwarts not knowing anything about magic, and turned into… well… _the great Harry Potter_?" Vaisey asked.

"I guess, yeah," Albus answered. Vaisey's eyes went wide.

"Wicked!" he whispered in wonderment. "Guess that means there's hope for anyone, then."

The door swung open. A tall boy came in, staring directly at Albus. The smile Albus had been sharing with Vaisey quickly came off his face. He'd forgotten about _him_…

"Oi, Potter, what d'you think you're doing?" the boy asked. "Geroff my bed – _now!_"

Albus looked down. He hadn't seen any names on the beds, but a group of belongings clearly not belonging to him was arranged at the foot of the four-poster.

"Oh…" Albus uttered as diplomatically as possible. "Sorry. Didn't know…"

"Yeah, you'd better be sorry," Desmond McLaggen growled as he approached the bed. Albus walked back to the center of the room, looking around for his things at one of the remaining two empty beds.

Wait… why were there two empty beds?

"Hold on," muttered Albus. "Something's off."

"What do you mean?" asked Rowan.

"My aunt – my aunt Hermione – she's got _Hogwarts, A History_ pretty much to memory," Albus murmured. "She said that Hogwarts is a living castle, and that it can remake itself based on need."

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Desmond impatiently.

"It means," Albus replied, "that either Hogwarts made a mistake, or we're supposed to—"

The door opened again. In stepped the Prefect, Tommy Jordan.

"Bedtime, guys!" he announced. "You've got the whole weekend to talk to each other."

"Hey, Tommy." Albus stepped forward. "Something's weird with our dorm room."

"What seems to be the problem?" Tommy asked.

"Can't you see?" Albus uttered, thinking that this should have been obvious. "There are four of us, but five beds."

"Nope, there's five of you, that was the other thing I came up here to tell you," Tommy answered, as if he'd seen this coming. Stepping aside, he said, "Meet your new roommate."

Staring back into the room and straight at Albus was the pale, pointed, blank face of Scorpius Malfoy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Gladstone and Malcolm**

"…So how do you know the staircase goes somewhere different on a Friday?" asked Stephan Vaisey impatiently. The weekend (for the Hogwarts Express had arrived on a Friday evening this year) had come and gone, and now Monday – the first day of class – was upon them.

"I guess they just sorta figured it out," Albus answered as they entered the Great Hall. "It's not even a sure thing they do the same thing as they did in my dad's time. That was about twenty years ago, you know…"

Albus wished that he hadn't been the one to know the most by far about Hogwarts. These two boys trailing behind him and asking questions every fifteen seconds were starting to feel more like followers instead of potential new friends. Nevertheless, he led them toward the Gryffindor table – or at least the table that had been the Gryffindor table. Albus didn't know for sure whether, during his father's time, it had been mandated for Houses to sit at their own tables for normal meals or not. It certainly was not mandated now, as Professor Flitwick had made a point of telling them during the Welcoming Feast.

In fact, what the old wizard had squeaked was, _"I encourage you all again, as Madam McGonagall would have done, to build relationships with students outside your House. Wizards we are, one and all, and unity is very important, should we face dark times at Hogwarts again, as we have in previous generations…"_

"Wow!" exclaimed Rowan, who had done this on at least a half dozen occasions already. It was a bit irritating. At the same time, it was hard for Albus to be too sore at Rowan. The wonder of Hogwarts was a marvel even to him, so he could only imagine what it must look like through the eyes of a boy who, until about a week ago, had no idea any of this existed. "Look at all this food!"

Albus had to admit, even though he'd known about it and had seen it at the Feast the night before, the amount and quality of food that Hogwarts seemed able to produce was quite impressive. They sat down next to a huge tray of eggs that made even Albus raise his eyebrows. It looked like a great golden cloud ornamented by sausage links and slabs of bacon.

"Blimey," muttered Vaisey, seating himself on one side as Albus and Rowan sat down opposite him. "Chickens'll be an endangered species at the rate Hogwarts goes."

"What? What kind of sense does that make?" asked Rowan. "The eggs that we eat aren't fertilized – I mean, they wouldn't have become baby chickens anyway."

Albus and Vaisey both looked at Rowan, who was already attacking the yellow mountain with his fork, scraping a great amount of it onto his own plate. He seemed to realize the other two boys were staring at him, and looked up.

"Oh…yeah, I've got an aunt and uncle that are farmers," he explained, going back to his food.

"So, that McLaggen bloke," murmured Vaisey, starting to gather his own breakfast. "…He's a bit boisterous, isn't he?"

"Boisterous? That's a polite way of putting it," Rowan commented, swallowing a gulp of orange juice. Albus had been watching him eat and was astounded that a boy this small could put down so much food. "I think he's a blowhard – not like I'd ever say that to his face, he looks like he could crush me with his bare hands. Did you see what he did to the Malfoy kid in the common room?"

Albus just happened to notice Scorpius Malfoy sitting a ways down their table, alone, his face buried in his own plate.

"Not sure that was too bright of Desmond, actually," Vaisey said airily.

"Whrrmm yrmmmm?" uttered Rowan unintelligibly.

"Can you swallow first?" asked Vaisey, looking somewhat revolted.

Rowan gulped mightily, then gasped like a swimmer coming up for air. "What do you mean, it wasn't too bright?"

Vaisey frowned, looked furtively around himself, then said in a lowered voice, "You were raised by Muggles, so you wouldn't know… but he comes from a family of Dark wizards."

Rowan looked at Scorpius, frowning. He knew precious little about the wizarding world, but the term 'Dark wizard' was obviously self-explanatory.

"That kid? He looks like he wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"The quiet ones are always the scariest," Vaisey said sagely. "But he's really, _really_ quiet. I don't think I've heard him speak since –"

"Since he screamed at the Sorting and ran out of the Great Hall blubbing," Rowan finished, a smirk crossing his face. "I know I'm new to all this wizard stuff, but… I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave."

Albus didn't speak; he, too, was surprised that Scorpius was sorted into Gryffindor, and he didn't have any time to let it sink in before they were ordered to bed. His dad had told him that the Malfoys had been in Slytherin for centuries… and the Sorting Hat tended to default to the family House, failing all else. In other words, Albus thought Scorpius Malfoy would have been a Slytherin for sure. Not that it would have made him a bad person – it just would have made him his father's son, like Albus himself was Harry's.

"Al!" a girl's voice squealed. "There you are!"

"Oi, heads up!" Rowan exclaimed suddenly. "It's a girl!"

"Honestly, Rowan?" Vaisey asked incredulously as a girl with bushy, reddish-brown hair settled into the seat on Albus's opposite side and hugged him briefly. "What are you, eight?"

"Oh – yeah, this is my cousin, Rose Weasley," Albus introduced her, still a bit surprised to see her. He thought she'd be with her new roommates at the very least.

"Oh… hello. I'm Stephan Vaisey. Nice to meet you," Vaisey said politely. Albus was getting the growing impression that Vaisey had been brought up in a well-bred, high-class family.

"Rowan Lester," Rowan said uncertainly, still staring at Rose as if she might sprout fangs and attack at any moment.

Rose let out a heavy sigh and turned to Albus. "So my room's… interesting."

Albus frowned. "What do you mean?"

Rose grimaced. "Well, I suppose the others aren't all that bad, but Sylvia – did you meet her? I saw you two talking at the Party earlier. She's… well, I don't really know how to put it. She's not really… mean, it's just… she comes on really strong, I guess. I'm really excited for Charms class, though. Wait, is that Scorpius?"

She had seen the blond-haired boy walk past. He must have been done with breakfast.

"Yeah," answered Albus.

"So he got Sorted somewhere after all."

"Yep. He's in our room," said Albus. Rose turned to him, gaping.

"A Gryffindor? Him?" Rose's expression became thoughtful. "I wonder if that's why he took it so badly at the Sorting?"

"But I never heard the Hat say 'Gryffindor'," argued Albus. "Or anything else, for that matter. I just saw him yell and start running."

"If I were him, I'd start looking for other schools," Rowan said. "He's gonna have a hard time living that one down."

Rose frowned as she looked Rowan over. "It's not that easy. Hogwarts is the only wizarding school in Britain. Besides, his family's gone here for ages. How would they take –"

She gasped, put a hand to her mouth, and let out a quick whimper. Albus looked at her, hoping desperately that she didn't burst into tears in front of his new friends. What she did was even stranger; she jumped to her feet and darted from the table.

"What was that all about?" asked Vaisey.

"No idea," Albus replied.

**James**

James Potter let loose an almighty yawn and stretched widely as he exited the Charms classroom on the second floor.

"Hey, watch it!" Murphy snapped, ducking away from James's flailing arm. James put his arm to his sides and looked at Murphy with a bleary expression.

"Why'd second years get Charms so early?" he groused. "Did you catch anything Gladstone was saying?"

"Sort of… no," Murphy admitted, shaking his head. "Maybe we shouldn't have stayed at the Welcoming Party so long last night."

"What were we gonna do – go to sleep with all that noise?" James asked skeptically.

"You know, Tommy learned a new spell – _sonomurus_," Murphy explained. "It can block sound or something. He used it on the outside of the common room so our party wouldn't disturb the whole castle. He probably could have used it outside our room, too, if you'd just asked."

"Sounds useful," James said, an impish grin crossing his face. "If I knew that, I'd be able to do anything I wanted to Al at home and nobody'd be able to hear him scream."

Murphy burst into laughter.

"OUCH!" James grunted – another young wizard had just walked into him. "Oi! Watch where you're going, idiot!"

He turned around and saw a retreating head of short, blond hair.

"Wait a second, that's…" he uttered. "Scorpius Malfoy. Oi! Scorpius! You need a tissue, you great blubbering prat?!"

Some laughs came from the students around them. Scorpius quickened his pace toward the Charms classroom.

"James, what are you doing?" asked Murphy. James looked back at him, his face serious.

"A bit of payback," he said. "You wouldn't understand. What's he doing going toward Gladstone's room? I thought Gryffindors had Charms next hour…"

Murphy opened his mouth, perhaps to say something else, but thought better of it. He pulled a short piece of parchment from his robes. "We'd better get going. We've got Defence next."

James huffed. "Defence. Brilliant."

"I thought you said Defence was your favorite subject," Murphy said.

"My favorite _subject_," James repeated. "Maybe you haven't noticed in the last _year_, but Malcolm hates my guts."

Murphy frowned. "Have you warned Al about him yet?"

James shook his head. "Haven't seen him since last night. Oh, well. Better get going. You know if we're late, Malcolm will take ten points from you and fifty from me. I don't think Gryffindor _has_ sixty points yet, either…"

As they wound their way further away from Professor Gladstone's classroom on the second floor, they found themselves on one of Hogwarts' many staircases. They were about three steps up when the staircase gave a horrible lurch underneath their feet. Murphy, who almost lost his balance, swore gloriously as he grabbed hold of one of the railings. The staircase was turning toward another landing. As it settled again, James and Murphy found themselves looking into the face of a small, dark-haired girl that had been waiting for the staircase. They passed each other. She smiled a bit nervously at James as the two exchanged glances.

"Who—" James started to blurt out, but Murphy grabbed his arm.

"Later, J.P.!" he cried imploringly. "We've only got five minutes!"

**Albus**

The three boys entered the second-floor Charms classroom only to find that they were among the last to get there.

"You see, Rowan? We were almost late!" exclaimed Vaisey. "You just _had_ to eat that last strip of bacon, did you?"

Rowan responded with a muffled belch. Vaisey's lip curled.

Their entrance had gotten the attention of Sylvia Thomas and the two other Gryffindor girls, who looked more or less like they'd been coerced into sitting next to her. Rowan, who was nearest to them, switched sides around Albus to walk directly behind Vaisey. Albus's eyes were toward the front, where a pale hand was in the air, waving at him furiously. (On the other side, with a row of four chairs all to himself, sat Scorpius Malfoy, apparently very interested in the wood of his desk.)

"There's Rose!" Albus exclaimed.

"Do we _have_ to?" complained Rowan.

"_You_ don't have to," said Albus, who was getting a bit annoyed at Rowan treating his cousin like she had the dragon pox.

"She seems alright," Vaisey muttered distractedly. "You can sit on the end if you're so worried about catching something."

Albus turned to Vaisey to squawk a protest, but Vaisey had a smirk on his face that made his intent at a jest rather obvious. So they filed in to the front row, Albus directly next to Rose, then Vaisey, then Rowan, who sat closest to the aisle.

"Why'd you run off like that?" Albus asked Rose immediately.

"I'd just… realized I'd forgotten a book, that's all," Rose said briskly.

"Wands out, please," came a call from the front of the classroom. It was the tall, blonde, beautiful Professor Gladstone, who was dressed this time in robes and a matching hat of a velvety dark green. Rowan's jaw dropped.

"_Wands_?" he uttered.

Gladstone looked at Rowan. Her expression seemed to soften for a brief moment.

"Is that a problem, Mr. Lester?"

"I, uh…" Rowan seemed to know that he'd made a horrible mistake. He started studying the desk even more intensely than Malfoy on the other side of the room. "I haven't got my wand. I mean… I left it in my room."

Giggles tinkled out from the group of girls behind them. On Albus's left, Rose had her face buried in one of her hands in disbelief. Even Gladstone seemed caught off guard for a moment.

"Pathetic! What kind of wizard doesn't carry his wand around with him?" Desmond's voice spat disdainfully.

"That will _do_, Mr. McLaggen," Gladstone warned. She took a deep breath, walked over to a nearby window, and threw it open. Leaning outside it, she said, "Are your room's windows unlocked, Mr. Lester?"

"I-I don't know… ma'am," Rowan stammered. "I didn't check."

"No matter," Gladstone said. Pulling out her own wand, she pointed it out the window. "_Alohomora!_"

Nobody could see what had happened… but Albus knew what the spell was. His mother had used it time and time again when James had decided that it would be funny to lock Albus out of his bedroom at home. Could that spell be used at this distance, though?

"_Accio Rowan Lester's wand!"_ Gladstone shouted next. She stepped back from the window and toward her own desk. "Now, some of your professors may teach courses from a theoretical standpoint, leaving it to you lot to do the practice on your own. But this is not one of those courses…"

At that moment, something small came whizzing loudly and quickly through the open window, aimed like a missile right at Gladstone's head. Casually throwing up a hand, she stopped the object dead between two fingers without much effort. It turned out to be a wand. Rowan's eyes went wide.

"…And I am not one of those professors," Gladstone finished, holding out the wand. A couple of gasps peppered the classroom as Rowan jumped out of his seat and bounded to the desk to take the wand, gazing up at Gladstone in awe. She, however, resisted, her expression stony. "It's good practice for a wizard to keep hold of his wand. In my class, it's a requirement. I know carrying a wand is new for you, so I'll excuse it this time – but if this happens again, you will not only be dismissed from my classroom, but you will lose twenty points for your House. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Rowan stammered, as Gladstone finally loosened her grip.

"I, erm…" Rose's hand slowly crept into the air.

"Yes? Miss…" Gladstone went around to a piece of parchment Albus supposed to be the class roster. He guessed she didn't know everyone's names yet. "Weasley?"

"Um…" Rose uttered nervously. "How did you manage an Unlocking Charm from this distance? And to summon another wizard's wand – I thought that couldn't be done."

Gladstone tilted her head. Albus couldn't tell if she was curious or mildly impressed. "That, Miss Weasley, is one of the many secrets I hope to… _unlock_ for you in time – if you are wise enough to pay attention."

She popped her eyebrows upward. It really wasn't necessary; the sniggers around the room meant that the students had caught the play on words.

"Now, as Mr. Lester, Miss Weasley, and Mr. McLaggen are obviously present, I must account for the rest of you," she went on. "When I call each of you by name, raise your wand and say the word, '_Lumos._' Nina Edgerton?"

"_Lumos_," came the voice of a girl a row or two behind Albus. He turned around just in time to hear her gasp. The tip of her wand shone brilliantly.

"Lester, I've already seen you… but let's have you try it anyway, shall we?" Gladstone said. Rowan raised his wand, looking at it curiously.

"_Lumos_ – ack!" he squeaked, dropping his wand onto the desk, for it had started to shine brightly and become quite hot on the end he'd been holding. Gladstone frowned.

"Perhaps I needn't state the obvious, but… you were holding your wand backwards, Mr. Lester," she sighed. Even Albus and Vaisey had to laugh. Rowan grinned sheepishly. "But at least it did what it was supposed to do. Mr. Malfoy – you look lonely over there, why don't you move over to this side with your classmates? Those three young ladies seem to have a seat free in their row."

Scorpius looked down at the table. Gladstone sighed.

"No matter. The spell?"

"_L-lumos," _he stammered, raising his wand. Its tip blazed with a brilliant white light.

"Well done. Mr. McLaggen?"

Desmond followed suit – he had chosen to occupy an entire row to himself in the back.

"Elizabeth O'Connell? Very good. Albus… Potter," Gladstone paused for a moment, looking up from her roster parchment and at Albus, who raised his wand.

"_Lumos_," he said. He felt his wand grow warm while the tip of it shone with a bright, white light that caused him to squint.

Soon Sylvia, Vaisey, and Rose had followed suit. Nine glowing wands now shone in the Charms classroom. Gladstone smiled, looking satisfied.

"Now, everyone, hold your wands up again – _other way_, Mr. Lester – and say, '_Nox._'"

"_Nox_," the class of first years chorused. The lighted wands were all extinguished.

"Congratulations," Gladstone said. "Most of you have just learned the first two spells of your formal education. Now, can anyone tell me what the use of this particular charm is?"

Silence. Gladstone smiled dewily.

"You're all overthinking, aren't you?" she said, the shadow of a laugh on her voice. "For everything in the wizarding world that isn't what it seems, there's also something that's exactly what it looks like. In other words, the Wand-Lighting Charm does exactly what it sounds like it does."

She held her wand aloft, and with nary a word or a further movement, its tip began to shine brightly – much more brightly than had any of the students' wands.

"Light can be useful in a lot of ways. It allows us to see. It reveals danger – or lack of it, which is sometimes just as important."

When they left class, they did so in a group of four. Rowan continued to give Rose as wide a berth as possible.

"At least we weren't practicing harmful jinxes or something," Vaisey laughed, looking at Rowan. "That could have been bad."

"Oh, come off it already!" moaned Rowan, clearly feeling the effects of embarrassment now. Desmond had said something snide to him about his wand issues on the way out. Rowan looked sourly at Albus. "You see? This is exactly what I'm talking about."

"It could happen to anybody, Rowan," Rose piped in.

"Easy for you to say," said Vaisey flatly, "Miss Rose 'swish and flick' Weasley."

Rose grinned at Albus. She wasn't one to show off her knowledge much. However, when Professor Gladstone asked (for a bonus ten points to Gryffindor) what the proper wand motion was for a Levitation Charm (apparently it could be found in the first chapter of their textbook) Rose couldn't resist.

"What do we have next?" Albus asked, directing the question at no one in particular but looking at Rose, who he guessed was the most likely to have the answer.

"History of Magic," Rose said a bit distastefully.

"History of Magic?" repeated Rowan. "I heard that class was taught by a ghost. A real, live ghost!"

Albus and Vaisey looked at each other, their mouths agape at the irony of Rowan's statement.

"You don't mean that literally, right?" the latter asked, sounding a bit worried.

"Yes, it's taught by a ghost," Rose sighed. "Unfortunately, that'll probably be _the_ most interesting thing about it."

"Why do you say that?" Rowan asked. "I wanna know about the History of Magic! Where wizards come from, how they built their own society to where Muggles can't even really find them! Don't you find any of that interesting?"

Albus chuckled appreciatively. He couldn't fault Rowan for his curiosity. That was for sure.

"Not the way Professor Binns teaches it," said Rose. "My dad said he's probably the only Professor in Hogwarts that could turn bloody goblin rebellions into a bedtime story."

"Yeah, James was telling me he thinks there's a spell on Binns' voice that puts everyone that hears it to sleep," Albus added. Vaisey laughed.

"It can't be that bad, can it?"

Roughly an hour and a half later, the four of them were staggering from Professor Binns' classroom. Everyone was rubbing their eyes except for Rowan.

"Did you hear anything he said?" asked Albus.

"N-nothing," yawned Vaisey. "You?"

"Yeah, I got _loads_ of notes," he said enthusiastically. Then, a frown grasped his face and his hand went to his stomach. "But I can't read them now, I'm too hungry. When's lunch?"

"Now," answered Vaisey. "Although I'm not sure you need to eat anything else after your rather brilliant performance at breakfast this morning."

"But all this learning and magic stuff really works up an appetite," Rowan whined.

Vaisey and Albus laughed.

The day ended rather quickly for the first years, who returned to the common room. Most of the upper classes had longer schedules, so Albus was able to find himself a spot on the couch in front of the fireplace. Binns had set them a short essay on (if Albus remembered correctly) the formation of wizarding communities in Britain. It was due on Friday, so Albus decided to unwind by way of the only homework Professor Gladstone had given them: practicing the Wand-Lighting Charm.

"_Lumos…Nox,_" Albus muttered, holding his wand aloft and watching it go alight for what had to be the hundredth time.

"I think you've got the hang of it, mate," Vaisey said. He'd taken up a table and decided to work on the essay, across from Rose, who (being Rose) had already finished both assignments and was now reading what looked like the textbook for Defence Against the Dark Arts, which the Gryffindors had after Potions tomorrow.

Albus sighed and stood. At that moment, a distraction came into the common room in the form of Rowan, who tripped over the portrait hole. He'd stayed behind in the Great Hall to eat a bit extra. Vaisey looked up from his parchment and Rose from her book.

"What's wrong with you?" Vaisey asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I ran right through one – that was no fun – but that's not the problem!" Rowan exclaimed, looking nervously behind himself. "I was sitting in the Great Hall, minding my business, when Sylvia Thomas and her friends showed up. And if that wasn't bad enough, they tried to _sit next to me_! I-I'm going up to our room. Don't tell them where I am!"

And he darted up the stairs and out of sight.

After a few seconds, Albus heard Vaisey snigger audibly into his parchment.

"Well, in any case," remarked Vaisey, "we know which one of us is most likely to be a lifelong bachelor."

Rose giggled. Albus shook his head.

"What's his problem?" he asked.

"I guess it's a phase," Vaisey said, shrugging his shoulders.

"That's not a phase, that's mad," Albus commented.

The portrait hole opened again. James darted through it. Albus watched slightly slack-jawed as his brother took one of his books and chucked it across the room, thundering along behind it with Richard Murphy in his wake.

"Mate, calm down!" Murphy pleaded.

"No, I _won't_ calm down!" James snapped. "It's abuse of power – that's what it is! He keeps carrying on with this rubbish, I'll go straight to Flitwick!"

"But that'd just prove his point, mate!" groaned Murphy.

"Whose side are you on, anyway?!" James yelled, throwing up his hands and stomping up toward the dormitories. Albus knew James had something of a temper. Still, for him to be that angry, something must have happened.

"What's going on?" asked Rose.

"It was Malcolm," sighed Murphy, walking over to pick up James' book. "J.P. corrected a page number for him – or tried to. Malcolm took ten points from Gryffindor and _tried_ to give him a detention."

"What, did he cheek him or something?" Albus asked.

"Malcolm thought so," Murphy said. "All J.P. said was the reference Malcolm was looking for during his lecture was on page eight and not page six. But, frankly, he should have known better. He and Malcolm rowed last year, too."

"What did James do to make this Malcolm bloke hate him so much?" Albus asked.

"Professor C.B. Malcolm's the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. We've got him tomorrow," Rose commented from the table. Vaisey gave her a somewhat surprised look.

"Do you memorize your schedule or something?" he asked.

"You don't?" asked Rose.

"Never mind that," Albus groaned. "What's that got to do with James?"

"I dunno," Murphy admitted. "But, to be honest, Malcolm doesn't much like Gryffindors on the whole. He feels like they – we – get too much attention."

"What house is he from?" asked Vaisey. "Did he even go to Hogwarts?"

"Hufflepuff," answered Murphy. "But he's still a young bloke. Can't be much older than thirty. So I'm guessing he was here after the war ended. Anyway… both he and Gladstone set us an arse-load of homework. Unbelievable, first day back…"

Shaking his head, he walked over and spread his belongings across an empty table.

Albus awoke early the morning. He supposed that the initial burst of excitement from finally being a student of Hogwarts hadn't worn off yet. Throwing back the curtains slowly, he peered into the room, dimly lighted by the gray foredawn outside. His eyes focused just in time to see motion. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand.

"_Lumos,_" he breathed, half for an excuse to try the spell again. He squinted – the effect of the wand light was much more dramatic in darkness like this. Frozen in the center of the dormitory, his face rendered ghostlike by the wand light and wearing a very deer-like expression, was Scorpius Malfoy. He was in the middle of pulling on his robes. Albus caught a glimpse of a shirt adorned with a picture of a golden, winged ball.

"You're up early… is that a Sn—" Albus whispered. Scorpius gave him a horrified look and whisked from the dormitories.

"How – much – further – do – we – have – to – walk?" panted Vaisey as he, Albus, and Rowan trekked toward their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class later that morning. Professor Malcolm's classroom was apparently up at the top of a tower.

"What's the matter?" teased Rowan, who, despite his weediness, looked like he could climb a thousand more stairs. "Not used to all this physical activity?"

"Shut up," groaned Vaisey. They reached the top of the staircase to find…

"Nothing," muttered Albus. "There's nothing here… except this rope…"

He'd found a length of twine dangling down near his ear. He gave it a hearty tug. A terrible creak shook the walls of the tower a second later. Rowan yelled at him. "Heads up, Potter!"

Albus jumped backward and would have fallen if not for Vaisey bracing him. He'd had to avoid something long, hard, and wooden falling down out of the ceiling. Once Albus gathered his wits about himself again and looked up, he realized that the large object had been a ladder, and that it led up further into what looked like an attic. Albus glanced furtively at Rowan and Vaisey…

"Can it be more obvious?" laughed Rowan. "I'll go."

He started up the ladder with gusto. Albus couldn't help but think that Rowan's long but stringy limbs made him look vaguely like a spider. Albus followed soon after, with Vaisey bringing up the rear.

The attic was a near-perfect circle. The air within was clouded in a strange sort of dust. Albus's hair (unlike his father's and brother's) was normally somewhat neat, but something in this room was making it stand on end. The room itself seemed to be alive with a strange sort of magic. A huge, circular table lined the wall, with a ring of chairs around the outside. Sitting in the middle, in a single, lonely chair, was a black-haired, bespectacled wizard. He had blue eyes and an impressively trimmed ray of facial hair that went from just under his bottom lip to the base of his chin. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment – then he drew himself up to his full (and considerable) height.

"Early birds, are we?" he said. "Well, as eager as I'm sure you are to learn… you'll have to wait for the others."

He was dressed in robes that were black, even by the standards of black. Albus couldn't explain it, except to say that they were just about as black as his father's hair. Very bright yellows accented his robes, looking even brighter by comparison against their dark backdrop.

"Are you –"

"C.B. Malcolm, Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. You may address me as 'Professor' or 'Professor Malcolm'," the man said. "Contrary to popular belief, I am _not_ a current student here – although I was one fairly recently."

His tone was defensive already.

"I see by the crimson-and-gold accents on your robes," Malcolm said, "and the somewhat lost expressions on your faces… you three are first year Gryffindors, are you not? Good job finding the classroom, at any rate. It's more than some of your predecessors have managed. What are your names?"

"Stephan Vaisey," Vaisey introduced himself first. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor."

Malcolm smiled; but like a smile Albus had seen from Desmond McLaggen a couple of days prior, it didn't look entirely benevolent – nor did it look to suit him. His blue eyes glinted behind his glasses. Albus thought he felt the temperature in the room (which was quite warm) drop instantly. "What have we here? A young Gryffindor with some manners? It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Vaisey. I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

Malcolm turned to Rowan.

"Rowan Lester."

"You wouldn't be related to Flynn Lester, would you?" Malcolm asked curiously.

Rowan shook his head. "Don't know a Flynn Lester."

"Coincidence, I suppose," Malcolm reasoned. "No, you wouldn't be his son… you're much too old…"

Albus breathed deeply. "I'm…"

"There's no need," Malcolm interrupted, suddenly terse. "I saw it from the second I laid eyes on you in the Great Hall. You're the very spitting image of him. Your father, I mean. Next time you see him, do me a favor, will you? Ask him if the name 'Ernie Macmillan' means anything to him. He was there, too, you see…"

Malcolm didn't say anything else to Albus about his father – or about anything else, for that matter. And Albus wasn't sure it wasn't better that way. Malcolm had spent most of the class (which turned out to be a two-House class taken with the Hufflepuffs) introducing himself and introducing his subject. But as Albus had already met Professor Malcolm and already knew what Defence Against the Dark Arts was, he found the class to be wholly uneventful. They were not so much as allowed to raise their wands during the period – although Malcolm did promise their first taste of practical spellwork when they returned on Thursday.

"Wow…" said red-haired Andrew Mack to his twin brother as they descended the spiral staircase at the end of the period. "Those fourth years said Malcolm was cool… he's _beyond_ cool!"

"He must be a genius," mused Alexander Mack. "To not only be a Professor so young, but Head of House, too!"

"I actually think he's rather handsome," mused a blushing Adriana, who was the odd one out among the triplets with her dark brown hair. Andrew and Alexander (who had been _very_ insistent on being called by his full name), a few steps lower, looked at each other.

"_Bleeaaarrgghh!_" they chorused, sticking their tongues out and making identical, disgusted faces.

Albus breathed a sigh as he reached the bottom of the ladder, soon stepping aside to allow Vaisey and Rowan down.

"That wasn't so bad," Vaisey remarked. "The way your brother's mate put it, I thought he'd spend the entire period tormenting the Gryffindors."

"Well, he didn't do that," Rowan agreed. "But, if you didn't notice, whenever he asked a question for House Points, he conveniently forgot to notice all the Gryffindors in the room?"

"Nobody was raising their hand," Vaisey uttered. "Except for McLaggen, and honestly, who wants to hear him talk?"

"It would've been worth it if we'd gotten some points." Rose was descending the ladder. (Rowan hid behind Vaisey, who rolled his eyes.) The four started down the staircase. Albus caught a glimpse of white-blond hair as they rounded the spiral.

"I wonder who Flynn Lester is?" Rowan asked aloud. "I should have asked him…"

"You joking? He looked like he couldn't wait to be shot of us," Rose commented. "I guess because we're first years. I bet it's the older classes he really looks forward to teaching – stuff more his level."

An almighty rhythm of thuds followed Rose's statement, followed by a moan, and a loud yell of "Get out of it, Malfoy!"

Rose grimaced. "Don't wait up for me. I'll be along later," she said, darting back up the stairs. Seconds later came Desmond, who trailed behind the other three boys as they walked slowly.

"I'm so sorry, Professor Flitwick," he soon said at the back of their heads and in a simpering tone. "I don't know how he ended up falling from the top of the tower – what a terrible accident."

Rowan got the hint and inched toward the wall with a whimper as Desmond sidled past. Soon after him, a cloud of black curls came bouncing down the stairs, coming to a stop at Albus's side. Rowan accelerated his pace down the staircase, evidently more frightened of this than he was of McLaggen.

"Malfoy's bag burst open at the top of the stairs," she said.

"Oh… that's too bad," Albus uttered, not knowing if Sylvia found that amusing, or if she was just stating a fact.

"So… I'm sure you've heard already," Sylvia announced. Again, she was expecting Albus to know something. What it was, Albus had no idea.

"About what?"

"Flying lessons," Sylvia said, rolling her dark eyes. "This Friday."

"Oh," uttered Albus, making a mental note that he should probably take a moment to sit down and make sense of his new schedule.

"I hope to do well enough," Sylvia said. "Dad's given me some pointers. They test every week, and once you pass, you can be shot of the course."

"You mean, you don't have to take it anymore?" asked Vaisey.

"Like I said, shot of the course," Sylvia repeated herself. "Of course, I'm _very_ interested in seeing how you handle a broomstick… Potter."

She raised her eyebrows and then darted down the stairs and away from the two boys.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: An Unexpected Hero**

"Flying lessons, huh?" Vaisey uttered on Friday as they left the confines of the castle for the outdoors. Vaisey had his long, blond hair banded back in a ponytail to keep it out of his way. "Oh, this'll be fun. I don't think I'll be any good on a broom… how about you?"

"I'll be alright, I think," said Albus.

"Oh, quit being so modest," Vaisey chuckled. "With _your _parents?"

"I mean, they were both fair Quidditch players in their day, I guess…" Albus muttered.

"_Fair_." Vaisey gaped at Albus incredulously. "'Fair,' he says. Your mother, Ginny? She was one of the best Chasers the Holyhead Harpies ever had. My gran says so – and she'd know. She's been following the Harpies all her life, and she's almost as old as Merlin."

Albus couldn't help but chuckle at this comment.

"And people are _still_ trying to figure out why your dad didn't play Quidditch, too," Vaisey went on. "They say he could have been _better_ than Charlie Weasley – who's your uncle, in case you forgot."

"I remember, thanks," Albus said. "Well… the wizarding world needed my dad to do… well, what he's doing."

"Really?" asked Vaisey incredulously, frowning. "But he could have gone pro for England. God knows they've needed a Seeker for years. They've gotten crushed in about the last five World Cups. Especially a couple of years ago – four-fifty to a hundred ninety in the first round to Romania, I think it was?"

Albus shook his head. Owing to his father's position, he and his family had been at the first round match of the last World Cup. "Five-twenty to one-thirty."

"Blimey." Vaisey shook his head. "You'd think they'd just call it once it got out of hand. So, erm… where's your sis- I mean, Rose? Sorry…"

"You're not the first one," Albus consoled him. "I dunno. I wouldn't think she'd skive off… I mean, she's a bit skittish about flying, but it _is_ a class…"

"And Rowan was last seen stuffing his face in the Great Hall," Vaisey chuckled. "Where d'you think all that food goes?"

"Search me," replied Albus as they neared the field that was to be used for their lesson. It was green and very flat, and Albus wondered whether it was used as an alternate field for practices if the main field wasn't available.

An old witch stood on the pitch conversing with another adult wizard. Madam Hooch had to have been over a century old by now, but she still looked much like his parents had described her. Her hair was short, grey, and spiky. Her eyes were alert, yellow, and piercing. She was, however, in possession of a cane, and Albus didn't know whether she'd had it during his parents' time. She looked around the shoulder of the tall wizard, saw Albus and Vaisey, and nodded at them. She turned her head, presumably to indicate where the students were to gather. A small group was already there, their black robes accented with green ties…

"I didn't know we had these lessons with the Slytherins," Vaisey murmured.

"What's wrong with that?" asked Albus.

Vaisey looked shocked at Albus for a moment. They reached the spot where the adults had been standing. Vaisey went a few steps toward the Slytherins, but then stopped of his own accord; Albus found his shoulder being grabbed. He let out a gasp and turned around.

A dark-skinned wizard positively towered over him, blocking out the sunlight with his height. If he hadn't been so lanky, Albus might have thought that he, like Hagrid, had some giant blood in him.

"Albus?" the man uttered. "Albus Potter?"

"Yes?" Albus replied, a bit intimidated. He didn't recognize this man at all.

"Merlin's beard, you've grown," chuckled the man. "Last time I saw you, you were about knee-high."

Albus still felt roughly knee-high to this tall gentleman… and he sure didn't remember him.

"Don't remember me, do you?" he asked. Albus shook his head – then a loud squeal echoed in the air. The wizard turned around.

"Daddy!" a young witch cried, throwing her arms around the tall man. He returned her embrace, lifted her off the ground for a moment, and kissed her forehead. Albus stepped just barely to the side, and saw a head of black, flowing, curly hair that was tied back.

"Surprise!" the man laughed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked quickly. "I thought you said you were traveling for work this week!"

"Well, that was sort of true, wasn't it?" he laughed. "Go over with your class. Madam Hooch will explain in a minute."

The two broke apart. Sylvia emerged, her face almost glowing with delight. She smiled at Albus and Vaisey before running off to introduce herself to the Slytherins. (Nina Edgerton and Elizabeth O'Connell soon followed, too busy talking with each other to acknowledge either the boys or Madam Hooch.)

"I heard that Matilda girl from Ravenclaw's actually a princess of England…"

"Not really. She's the daughter of some branch family. But I guess she _would_ be in line for the throne if about fifty other people snuffed it…"

"I wonder if a witch or wizard has ever become King or Queen before? There must have been one in the royal line somewhere. Britain's been around for a _long_ time, after all…"

Next came Rowan, panting and looking green.

"Where were you?" asked Albus.

"I went – back to the tower!" he said, clutching at the stitch in his side. "I was looking for my book for this class… but I can't find it!"

He seemed genuinely distressed.

"Relax," Albus advised him. "There's no book for this class – unless you count _Quidditch Through the Ages_, but that's not required reading."

"How much d'you want to bet Rose read it anyway?" asked Vaisey. He suddenly had to evade someone's approach, and turned toward the offender, scowling.

Scorpius Malfoy went past them rather quickly; Rose herself followed, looking a bit perturbed and clutching a book that may or may not have been _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

"Did you actually-" Albus started. Madam Hooch headed Rose off.

"I'll take that from you, my dear," she said. "You won't be needing it."

Rose let the book go with a whimper and then turned back to Albus, looking tearful.

"What am I going to do?" she moaned quietly.

"Just follow Madam Hooch's instructions. You should be fine."

They gathered around with the other students in a circle, around what had looked to Albus from a distance like an unlit campfire. It turned out to be a bundle of broomsticks – at least enough for all of them and possibly more.

"Welcome to your first formal Flying lesson," Madam Hooch announced from directly next to the bundle of brooms. Sylvia's tall, dark-skinned father was standing next to her. "You may call me Madam Hooch. I will be your instructor for the duration of your time here. This gentleman here will be assisting me."

Murmurs filled the circle.

"Arbiter Dean Thomas, at your service," he announced. "My role is…"

He looked at Madam Hooch for a moment, who nodded a bit grimly.

"Madam Hooch, after… let's say, _well over_ fifty years in service to Hogwarts as its resident Flying instructor and Quidditch Arbiter, has decided that the time has come for her to retire," Dean said. "And as such, I have been asked by the school to serve as her assistant for this this term, and…"

Dean tried to look over the entire class, but his eyes fell on his daughter. He smiled.

"I'm pleased to announce that, as of next year, I will be handling those duties full-time," he said. Sylvia put her hands to her mouth, looking like she'd just gotten an early Christmas present.

"Well, yes, ahem…" Madam Hooch cleared her throat impatiently. "Now that we've gotten that business out of the way, let's begin, shall we? Watch your heads, young ones—"

For she had produced her wand and waved it. The bundle of brooms rose into the air as one. The students stepped back, widening the circle.

"_Whoa!_" whispered Rowan from Albus's right. The brooms separated from each other and all floated slowly up the pitch. They seemed to divide themselves into two rows before falling limply (each with a soft _flump_) onto the grass. An equal number of brooms now lay on each side of the circle of students – all of them spaced several feet apart.

"Everyone pick a broom," Madam Hooch instructed. "Stand over the broom you want to claim and place your _wand_ hand over it."

Albus, Rowan and Vaisey moved as one, trying to find three brooms near each other. Sylvia looked to be trying to follow them, but instead went to the opposite side, where she ended up between Scorpius and (to her obvious chagrin) Desmond McLaggen.

Albus put his right hand over a broom that looked rather like it had been forced to sweep a few floors against its will. On the weather-beaten handle, it displayed faded, golden lettering: _"Nimbus Two Thousand."_ Albus's jaw dropped. His father had ridden a Nimbus Two Thousand more than twenty years ago. It had been a top-of-the-line broom back then, too…

"Put it down, Miss Walter – no cheating," said Madam Hooch with a smile, her eye glinting as she looked at the tiny, red-haired Slytherin girl, who grinned mischievously as she placed her broomstick down on the ground. Next to her was Marsha Flint, who eyed Walter with a curled upper lip. Albus was frankly a bit curious as to how _she_ would fit on a broomstick. "Alright, then – hold your wand hand over your brooms and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" chorused the first years.

A whooshing sound rang through the air. Several of the first years' brooms had leapt into their hands instantly. Albus, holding his own broom, looked around. Phillip Bletchley, a Slytherin first year, was smirking and nodding to himself as if success had been his one and only expectation. Frieda Walter had caught hers as well, and was eyeing it with a mixture of delight and surprise. Sylvia was beaming at her father, who looked to be nodding at her in approval. Desmond was casually leaning his broom against his shoulder, a smug look on his face.

Directly across from Albus was Scorpius Malfoy, whose broom had jumped almost as soon as he'd opened his mouth. He was staring straight at the handle in his hand, but his gray eyes were strangely distant, as if he was trying so hard to focus that the opposite had happened.

"UP!" Albus heard a few more voices still attempting. Marsha Flint's broom jumped into her hand on about the fifth try. Rowan's followed suit, but so erratically that Albus had to duck to avoid it. Vaisey and Rose were still having trouble. Tellius Nott and the brown-skinned Slytherin girl with the high cheekbones whose name Albus didn't remember had failed to summon their brooms upward as well. The only difference was, neither of them looked like they could be bothered either way.

A few moments later, when everyone had their brooms in hand, Dean Thomas announced, "Now, everyone – mount your brooms."

"You, there, you're backwards," Madam Hooch called forcefully. Rowan sheepishly grinned as he climbed off his broom. He'd tried to mount it closer to the side with the tail twigs. Finally, everyone had mounted their brooms properly – or more or less, as Dean and Madam Hooch had to go up and down the rows, correcting a few grips here and there. Marsha Flint and Desmond McLaggen looked particularly vast upon their brooms; conversely, Rowan, little Frieda from Slytherin, and (to some degree) Scorpius all looked like the slightest breeze could blow them off course once airborne. Albus looked down the row. Dean was helping Rose with her grip, seemingly with a bit of extra care. Albus wondered if Dean recognized her. She glanced at Albus nervously.

"Now," Dean instructed, walking back toward the middle. "On my count and whistle, kick off hard from the ground, but hold your body upright. You will leave the ground and hover. Do _not_ panic, and I cannot possibly overstate that. Don't lean into your broom, either. We don't want any accidents. Alright, then – one, two…"

A short tweet of a whistle sounded. Albus kicked from the ground hard. He was ten feet above the grass as the broom buzzed lightly underneath him. Most of the students were level. Not long after, Hooch and Dean had summoned their own broomsticks and joined them in the air.

"Everyone alright?" Dean asked. "Grip, but don't lean. That's important. These brooms are old, but they were very good for their time. They're very sensitive."

In about half an hour, about two-thirds of the class was flying decently in the air and learning how to climb, bank, and dive. Madam Hooch commented that it was one of the fastest-learning classes she'd ever had, and said she might be rid of the lot of them by October if they were all lucky. What she meant, of course, was if she managed to get the last third of the class (which included Vaisey, Marsha Flint, the other Slytherin girl, and the two Gryffindor girls) up to snuff.

Albus, meanwhile, was in the air. Every now and again, the broom would lurch or do something strange, but all in all, he was beginning to get the hang of flying. He had been a bit nervous about it. With both his parents and so many of his relatives having been Quidditch players, he'd feared not being able to fly almost as much as he'd feared becoming a Slytherin. But here he was, in the air just as well as everyone else. He wasn't sure if he was yet the best flier in the class (Sylvia was having a particularly good showing and looked to be a natural on a broom) but he definitely wasn't the worst – and that was good enough for him.

"Lester, keep your broom handle level!" Dean shouted some advice. For someone who, up until about a week ago, didn't know brooms could be used for flying, Rowan wasn't doing too badly. "McLaggen, don't go too far!"

"Calm down, teach, I got this!" Desmond had leaned into his broom and shot out of the loose formation like a cannon. Albus hated to admit it – Desmond was pretty good. He supposed that the boy's larger build helped him a bit in this breeze.

"Al! Al!" a girl's voice called through the whipping winds. Albus turned around and looked down. Coming up toward him like a rocket was Rose. She shook her hair out of her face. "I think I'm finally getting the hang of this!"

"Rose!" Albus called back. She shot straight past him. Dean looked up. Rose was going much too high, much too fast.

"I can't stop it!" she cried suddenly, her tone of delight changing to one of terror.

"Level out!" Desmond called. As much as Albus hated the idea of Desmond bossing everyone around, he was hoping that the other first year boy's instruction's worked.

"It's – stuck!" Rose cried. "It won't – let – me –"

"Rose!" yelled Albus, now genuinely afraid. Her angle of incline steepened horribly as the broom she was riding rose like a cork. Her hands slipped – "ROSE!"

He watched it happen in slow motion. The rest of her slid slowly off the broom, like rain water from a tree branch. Albus watched her fall, a cloud of black robes and auburn hair…

"ROSE! NO!"

"Damn!" swore Dean. "Madam Hooch ~ MALFOY, STOP!"

For the small, blonde-haired boy had broken from the group, going into a dizzying dive. He became a blur, accelerating, gaining on Rose's plummeting body despite her head start. He was straight an as arrow to the ground.

Madam Hooch started to climb onto her broom, panic in her eyes. "No! They're both going to—"

A sudden gust of wind altered Rose's fall right as Scorpius got there. He pulled up and leaned, leaving the grip of the broom to his legs and knees. Albus heard Rose scream as Scorpius grabbed hold of her arm. He had come off the broom with both hands and the effort of catching her had upended him, so that he hung on the broom with his legs like a blonde chimpanzee. Madam Hooch and Dean arrived and carried her down to the ground.

The students all gathered around Rose, who was now seated on the grass and holding her arm. Madam Hooch was gently prodding at it, and with each prod Rose winced and more tears gathered on her already sodden eyelashes.

"Stop it!" Albus finally cried before he could stop himself. "Can't you see she's injured?"

"Dislocated shoulder, more exactly," Madam Hooch said somberly. "Can you stand, dear?"

"I-I think so…" Rose said, and she got to her feet.

"Hospital wing for you, then," Madam Hooch said, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"She's my family," Albus piped up. "I'll go, too."

Madam Hooch, who (judging by the look in her yellow eyes) had just remembered that Rose and Albus were cousins, paused for a moment and said, "Very well, then…"

But Rose shook her head. "I'll live, Al. You stay and test. You shouldn't have to stay in this class another week because of me."

Madam Hooch looked back at Albus, who nodded. "I'll visit you if you're still up there."

"Mm-hmm," she said, still clutching her shoulder but apparently handling the pain very well. In a whisper, she said, "Tell… no, never mind. I'll do it."

Madam Hooch started to lead Rose away, but Dean yelled after her. "Am I to test them, then?"

"Go on," Madam Hooch replied.

"Alright," Dean said, drawing his wand and looking back at Rose's broom. "But before that – _REDUCTO!_"

There was a blast like a small bomb going off. The broom exploded into splinters. Madam Hooch jumped horribly and whirled around. She clutched her chest.

"Merlin's beard, Dean! That was school property!"

"…And it would have had to be decommissioned," Dean answered, the tone of deference he'd been using toward Madam Hooch now completely gone. "_We just got lucky_. If that broom was ever used again, somebody might not have been so lucky. And that somebody could have been my daughter."

Sylvia bit her lip, looking simultaneously mollified and embarrassed that her father had brought her into the conversation/

"I suppose you're right," said Madam Hooch sadly after a long silence. "I hate to see brooms meet their end that way, though…"

And at last, she led Rose toward the hospital wing.

"…The governors' tight fists are going to be the death of some poor kid at this rate," muttered Dean savagely, now looking quite upset. He took a deep breath, possibly to compose himself, and then spoke again: "All right, you lot, I'm sure you've heard by now that after each week, you'll have the option of attempting to test out of this class…"

"Mr. Thomas? Sir?" Scorpius spoke. It was the first time Albus had ever heard him talk at length and, almost predictably, he had a voice that sat somewhere on the line between courage and trembling timidity.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Dean replied.

"I would like to go first," Scorpius replied, the trembling in his voice now gone. Dean shook his head.

"There will be no need," he said, finally offering Scorpius a smile. "I would have liked to see you follow my instructions and stay in the group with the rest of the students. Still, it's a fact that Madam Hooch or myself may not have been able to get to Miss Weasley in time. I'm not quite sure where your skill came from, but it might have saved a life here today. Clearly, flying on a broomstick isn't something you need much help with. You'll be passed through. You're free to go."

"Thank you," Scorpius said politely, nodding at Dean and starting to leave.

"Absurd… does he even know how good he is for his age?" the tall instructor muttered, an incredulous smile crossing his face. Raising his voice again to the class, he asked, "All right, then – any more volunteers?"

Albus volunteered first, passed, and without a second look at Rowan or Vaisey, took off toward the hospital wing. _They'll understand_, he thought.

When he arrived, he found the wing to look much like he'd expected – several austere-looking white beds were set up in a couple of rows. Most of them were empty, save for one that had a boy that looked quite green and was sneezing every several seconds. Albus gave that particular bed a wide berth as he stalked through the middle of the wing, looking for his cousin.

"Excuse me – may I help you?"

Albus jumped and turned to his right. There was a very young lady in a white smock and dress standing there. She was probably only a few years older than Victoire, but almost as pretty. Her brown hair was tied back behind her in a ponytail, underneath a small hat.

She tilted her head. "I don't think I've seen you before. Are you a first year?"

Albus nodded. She smiled.

"My name's Nadine. I'm Madam Pomfrey's assistant. Are you not feeling well today, Mr…"

"Potter," Albus replied, realizing he hadn't introduced himself. "Albus Potter."

"Potter?" she repeated, tilting her head curiously. "You're not related to James Potter, are you? He was in here last year around Halloween, sick to his stomach."

Albus raised an eyebrow. This Nadine lady sure had a good memory.

"Turned out someone had slipped an enchanted candy into one of the bowls," Nadine reminisced. "A candy that causes – well, there's no other way to say it, _uncontrollable vomiting. _Some of you students have a very strange sense of humor."

"Nadine?" a matronly but somewhat creaky voice sounded, and Nadine turned around. Madam Pomfrey was an elderly witch dressed in a similar outfit to Nadine. She had a look about her of well-intentioned but overbearing matronly affection – a bit like his Gran Weasley, except quite a bit older.

"I'm looking for Rose," Albus said. "Rose Weasley?"

Madam Pomfrey looked at Albus. "And you are?"

"Albus Potter," Albus replied. "Rose is my cousin."

"So you're just here to visit, then?" Madam Pomfrey answered creakily. "That's a relief. Seems like your father was in here every year for one reason or another. Delicate, that boy…"

Albus grimaced, wondering how his father, now a grizzled war veteran in his late thirties, would have reacted to Madam Pomfrey calling him 'delicate' and a 'boy' if he'd been in the room… Nonetheless, Madam Pomfrey and Nadine lead Albus to a bed in the corner. Rose was seated upon it, propped up by pillows, her right arm in a sling and looking a bit unhappy.

"Ten minutes," Madam Pomfrey said commandingly. "The sick need their rest."

"Well… Madam Pomfrey," Albus heard Nadine say, "She's not so much sick as –"

"Oh, all right," Madam Pomfrey drawled impatiently. "Fifteen minutes, then."

Rose frowned. She seemed to be waiting for something to speak.

"Are you okay?" Albus asked.

"Of _course_ I'm okay!" snapped Rose. "Nadine popped my shoulder back in, which hurt, but after Madam Pomfrey put some of this potion on it, it feels good as new. Why they're making me wear this sling and stay here this long, I have no idea. It's not helping and I have homework to do. Did you pass?"

"Sure, but…" Albus swallowed. "That…. That was scary, Rose. I thought you were –"

"You want fear? Try falling about a hundred feet," Rose said flatly. "If it hadn't been for Scorpius… you just missed him, you know."

"He came here?" Albus asked. "Who was he visiting?"

"Me, I guess," Rose said, looking at her knees. "He didn't even say much. He just sat down and looked at me for a couple of minutes."

Albus tilted his head. "Sounds sort of dodgy…"

"Oh, it's not like _that_," Rose replied. "I just don't think he knows what to say to people. But it was very kind of him to check on me, wasn't it?"

And as she looked down at her knees again, Albus couldn't help but notice the uncertain smile on her face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Scorpius' Flight, Again**

**James**

"What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Oh, shut it, Murph," replied James, rolling his eyes. "It's Friday evening. Can't you give my brain a little time to relax?"

"Good point," Murphy said, shutting his Potions textbook with a loud _snap_. "Wanna play Exploding Snap or something? James?"

"It's Friday evening," muttered James to himself again. "What am I forgetting?"

"You had something to do today?" asked Murphy.

"It had to do with giants, I know that much…" James murmured, unsure whether his brain was playing tricks on him.

"You sure it wasn't the 'giant' amount of homework we got from Potions and Astronomy?" Murphy groaned. "Honestly… you'd think we were in O.W.L. year or something. Why are all the professors setting us this much work the first week of term?"

"Professors… giants… _Merlin's left –_" James jumped to his feet, looking around the common room. "Albus and I were supposed to meet Hagrid for tea!"

"You'll have to wait, then," Murphy replied calmly. "Haven't seen the little gremlin yet."

"It's almost five," James said, frowning as he sat down again. "Where could he be? I know _our_ flying lessons weren't _nearly_ this long last year…"

Two girls came in through the portrait hole. James recognized them as two of the other girls from Albus's year.

"Did you see that?"

"Shocking. I had no idea Malfoy could do that… where is she now?"

"Still in the hospital wing, I think…"

James slowly stood up. "Malfoy put someone in the hospital wing?"

"Big deal," Desmond McLaggen, who had been in the room a while, snapped suddenly. "I coulda done what he did with my eyes closed."

"Really?" one of the first year girls asked. "Then why didn't you?"

Desmond was stopped dead, and the two girls walked past him.

James walked up to Desmond. "Did something happen in one of your classes?"

Desmond shrugged his shoulders. "The Weasley girl made a prat of herself on her broomstick and nearly died."

James' heart caught in his throat. He wasn't sure what was making him angrier; what Desmond had said, what Desmond had called his cousin, or the flippant way Desmond had gone about it all. "Rose? What happened to her?"

"Popped her shoulder," Desmond said. "She's probably blubbing up in the hospital wing right now."

"Hey, watch it," James snapped at him. Desmond tilted his head. Desmond was quite a bit bigger than James despite James being older by at least a year.

"Looks like Malfoy couldn't resist after all," he said. "He's finally started to arse-kissing, too. Maybe he thinks it'll get in good with the rest of the Gryffindors. If that's true, he's about as gormless as he looks. Ah – speak of the devil…"

Scorpius stumbled through the portrait. James rounded on him.

"What happened with Rose?" he asked loudly.

"What?" Scorpius seemed confused.

"Don't play dumb with me, Malfoy," James spat. "Where's Rose? Why's she in the hospital wing?"

"She fell off her broom," Scorpius said, still obviously not understanding the issue. "I don't know what happened, it wasn't working for some reason…"

"Oh, don't go there," Desmond's voice drawled from a bit behind James. "Everybody knows brooms don't just stop working."

"Old ones do," Scorpius said defensively.

"So you thought you'd take advantage, huh?" James asked. "Knock Rosie off her broom – make it look like an accident?"

Scorpius looked horrified. "I didn't – I wouldn't –"

"That's what your old man woulda done, right? Or maybe your grandfather – Lucius Malfoy, the Death Eater?"

The room had gone silent.

"My father's not like that!" Scorpius suddenly shouted.

"Oh, your father was _exactly_ like that," James replied. "If your family'd had its way, I wouldn't even be here right now!"

Scorpius was clenching his fists.

Murphy piped in, "Come on, J.P., this isn't really necessary…"

"No, I'm gonna put this fire out before it starts," James answered. "The Malfoy family treated my parents like _filth_ all through school. His grandfather almost got my mum _killed_. If it hadn't been for Dad, she would have been! And Lucius Malfoy's still alive, all because the wizarding world was too easy on him. Yeah, I know about the Malfoys…"

"I'm not my grandfather!" Scorpius yelled out. "You – you –"

"Shut up!" James barked. "I know it's hard for you, but for once, _show us some respect! _Did your father tell you what happened back then? Huh? About how he tried to stop my dad from bringing down Voldemort and almost died? And why is he still alive, huh? Why _are you alive_? Because my dad's a great man – that's why. Because he risked his own arse to go back for that scum—"

"My father…" Scorpius's eyes were glittering now. "…is _not _scum!"

Scorpius's hand twitched a bit in the direction of his robes –

"_EVERTE STATUM!_"

A deafening bang went off. James Potter had drawn his wand almost faster than thought and sent a curse at Scorpius, who was still unarmed. Scorpius took a red jet of light right in the stomach and flew back into the portrait hole, opening the door to the common room by force as he spilled out into the hallway.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?!" squawked the Fat Lady.

James' eyes glinted madly as he went to give chase.

"J.P., stop!" Murphy shouted. "C'mon, mate!"

"Get out of it, or I'll curse you, too!" James snarled.

He leapt out of the common room and into the hall, where Scorpius was crab-scuttling backward on his hands and knees. James pointed his wand at him.

"That's what it looks like when someone hexes you to your face," he said icily. "I've always heard your dad was a jinx-to-the-back kind of bloke."

Scorpius let out a strangled cry and produced a wand….

"_Expelliarmus!_" James yelled quickly. Scorpius' wand went flying and landed further down the hall with a clatter. "And you know what else? Your dad never could beat mine in a fair duel, either."

Scorpius staggered to his feet. James's upper lip curled. He flicked his head to one direction as if trying to rid himself of a particularly bothersome fly.

"_Petrif-"_

A sudden gust of wind hit his wand hand, dislodging the long stick from his grip. He staggered backward, holding his wrist and trying to flex his fingers and regain feeling in them.

"Stop it, James!" he heard his brother cry out. Behind him was a tall adult wizard with a face that should have been round and friendly. Instead, though, its eyes were focused on James in a gaze of cold fury.

"You –" the wizard uttered haltingly, obviously beside himself. "Unbelievable – his son – I thought you'd know better…"

"Did you just Disarm me?" James snapped on Albus. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_?!" Albus replied. "Have you gone mental?"

"You didn't see what he did to Rose?!" James asked.

"He _saved Rosie's life_! You – you _idiot_!" Albus groaned, kneeling beside Scorpius. "Hey, are you o—"

"Leave me alone!" Scorpius cried out, smacking away Albus's hand and running in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Scorpius, wait-!" Albus started.

"Let him go," the grown wizard interrupted. Then he set his eyes on James. "You. Come with me."

James took a moment to find his voice, but when he did, it was small and stilted. "Ne—"

"Don't 'Neville' me. I have never been so disappointed—" was the halting reply. "My – office. _Now._"

James looked up and around at the office. Among other things, a few pictures and a strange, stuffed figure sat on the desk. Golden-brown and maned with a hollowed-out maw, it looked like the lion's head he'd seen at the Welcoming Party several days back. James wondered if it was the same one for a moment, then realized that this one was much more weather-beaten and frayed around the edges. It had a letter attached to it. The writing was slanted and a bit uneven, but still very legible – a bit like controlled chaos put to paper.

_Hi Neville,_

_I found this in a trunk of my old school things. Since you were a Gryffindor, I thought you should have it. Except I don't think it roars anymore… but I guess you could always try to put the same charm on it, right?_

_Good luck with the Auror stuff, and be careful! It would really be too bad if you died now after surviving so much. I know things didn't work out between us, but I still consider you a dear friend, and I'd be terribly sad if something happened to you. Tell Harry and the others I said hello!_

The letter was signed with a drawn heart, and the initials "LL".

With a furtive look toward the door of the office, James snuck around to the other side of the desk to see the pictures.

One of them was that of an old woman with what looked like a stuffed bird atop her head. She was carrying a great handbag and looking back at James imperiously. Next to her picture was a picture of a smiling wizard and a round-faced witch, both looking down at a quite fat baby in the latter's arms. And next to that picture was a present, or at least recent, picture of Neville Longbottom himself, arms around his warmly smiling, blonde-haired wife. On the other side of the desk was another picture that had caught James's eye.

Neville and his wife were there again – a bit younger and, this time, clearly in their wedding attire. But a few other people were there as well. Another blonde woman was nearby Neville, wearing alarmingly bright yellow dress robes. Wearing black dress robes (had he been a groomsman?) and smiling next to Neville was James's own father, Harry. Harry couldn't have been yet thirty in this picture. He had also cleaned his sometimes-stubbly face rather well for the event. Next to him, glowing almost as much as the bride, was Ginny. She was looking down every so often at her slightly swollen belly, and James, with a jolt, realized that he, too, was in the picture.

Something shiny had caught James's attention. Staring at it, James was torn between curiosity and disbelief. It seemed to be set among the memorabilia as if it belonged… but what was the significance of a single, gold Galleon? James, looking furtively at the door, put his hand toward it to investigate further…

The door flew open. Neville Longbottom was standing there, looking foreboding in his long, crimson cloak. Slowly, he turned around and shut the door behind himself. Nervously, James edged around to the outside of the desk. Neville, meanwhile, stormed around the other side to sit in this chair. There were a few seconds of silence.

"What the _hell_," he whispered, "is wrong with you?"

James grimaced uncomfortably, now turning the coin over in his hand. "I thought you'd get it."

"Get what?"

"I heard he'd done something to Rose –"

"Don't give me that," Neville snapped. "All you were talking about was how terrible his father and grandfather had been… as if he doesn't probably know that already. Rose was just your excuse – and not a very good one, I might add. Any time a student is injured in class, the Head of House gets the whole story. Dean and Madam Hooch already told me what happened. Rose's broom malfunctioned, she fell, and she probably would have _died_ if Scorpius hadn't been there. If anything, you should have been thanking him. But you just couldn't get past the fact that his name was Malfoy, could you?"

"Well…" James felt like a rat backed into a corner. "Well, maybe, if your Sorting Hat hadn't screwed up—"

"The Sorting Hat does not make mistakes," Neville said very sharply. "Trust me. The Hat has a way of seeing each of us not as we are at the moment, but also as what we can be – even if others don't see those qualities in us. Even if we don't see those them in ourselves."

"Yeah, but –" stammered James. "His dad _and_ his grandfather were both Death Eaters…"

"So what?" Neville asked. James stared back at him incredulously.

"So what?" he spluttered. "So what?! The Death Eaters killed a load of people! I – you were there! You fought them! You don't need _me_ to tell _you _that the Death Eaters were bad news!"

"Yes, but we're not talking about a Death Eater, are we?" Neville replied, raising his voice a bit. "We're talking about a scared eleven year-old boy that's probably away from home for the first time in his life. Don't you remember what it was like your first week at school?"

"Yeah, I do," James answered darkly. "Everybody giving me those weird looks and judging me before they'd even met me. 'He's Harry Potter's kid.' 'I wonder if he's going to be anything like his dad?' I got sick of it. I'm not my dad."

"_Exactly_," Neville said. "Hasn't it occurred to you that he might be feeling the same way? I imagine he knows a shade more about the exploits of his father and grandfather than you do."

James went silent.

"The Malfoys barely ever appear in public anymore," said Neville, his voice growing deathly quiet. "They're outsiders in the wizarding world. Most of Voldemort's supporters have either died fighting or been shipped off to Azkaban. Lucius and Draco Malfoy were the only two people still alive and free that are known to have taken the Dark Mark. And, yet, they are under Ministry protection. Do you know who it was that _ordered_ that protection?"

James shook his head.

"Of course you don't," replied Neville. "You don't even _know_ Scorpius that well, do you? You just know about his parentage – and you think he's a black mark on wizarding society just because of who his parents and grandparents were. Do you know – do you have _any idea_ what that sounds like?"

James shook his head again, not meeting Neville's eye. His throat was starting to tighten.

"No," said Neville. "It's against the rules to attack another student – but that's not my main concern with you. My concern isn't as a professor, but as a friend of your father that sees one of his children going in the wrong direction… because your attitude's no better than that of the Death Eaters. You've going down the same warped path as Voldemort himself."

James felt like he'd been hit in the gut.

"You don't mean that," he choked.

"I wish I didn't," Neville replied heavily. "And it's especially dangerous for you. You clearly have a knack for duelling, much like your father did. But all that power without any ethics makes you nothing more than a bully. You need to be taught a lesson."

James grimaced. Possible punishments began to circle themselves in his brain; everything from fifty points being taken from Gryffindor to detention, to multiple detentions, to…

Neville wouldn't recommend he be expelled… would he?

Would he?

"I'm not going to recommend you for expulsion," Neville said seriously, almost as if he'd read James's mind… or maybe used that Legible-whatever-it-was that he'd heard his dad talk about once or twice. "And I doubt Flitwick would go for it. If we had to expel everyone that ever got into a scuffle in the common room, we'd hardly have any students left."

James saw Neville's lip twitch very slightly.

"And I won't take any points from Gryffindor," Neville added, almost as if this decision had taken him a moment. "I've never been much for taking House points away for the punishment of one individual. In fact, I don't much like the House Cup competition. Don't tell Professor Flitwick I said that, though. He likes the old traditions, that man."

James would have grinned if it weren't such a serious situation.

"But I'm more interested in your growth as an individual," Neville said. "Of course, I say that to all my students, and strictly speaking, a professor's not supposed to have favorites. But I'm especially interested in _your_ growth because you _are_ your father's son. So here's what I've decided."

**Albus**

Albus climbed into the portrait hole. The common room had a strange, ominous buzz about it. He first laid eyes on the pair of Gryffindor girls that were rarely seen apart, Nina and Elizabeth. Albus frowned. According to Rose, they had become fast friends because of one common trait. They both loved to gossip.

"That James Potter… he's got some sort of temper, doesn't he?"

"Was it all true? All that stuff about Scorpius's grandfather being a… what _is _a Death Eater, anyway?"

Elizabeth gave Nina an incredulous look for a moment.

"Your parents never – _oh, that's right_. You're Muggle-born. I keep forgetting. Years and years ago, before we were born, there was this evil, evil wizard named Voldemort that became powerful using Dark magic. His core followers were called the Death Eaters. They're the ones that started off the last great wizarding war. Things got really bad for a while, until this bloke named Harry Potter found a way to destroy Voldemort for good. Everything's been pretty much alright since then."

It sounded so simple when Elizabeth said it like that – rather like a bedtime story told to a small, wide-eyed child… or a book (or maybe several books) Albus would have rather enjoyed reading. There was a sort of blissful detachment for most people when they talked about those events. Some people still held very painful wounds from those days. But even _they_ had found ways to move on.

"Hey, Potter," Desmond's voice rang through Albus's consciousness. "Your brother's got an itchy trigger finger. Gave Malfoy what for – good as I've ever seen. Hate to admit it, but it was pretty impressive—"

"Shut up!" Albus snapped.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" asked Desmond, looking surprised.

"You think – you think I approve of – _that_?" Albus spluttered, barely able to find words in his indignation. "You think I _like_what my brother just did?"

"Why not?" Desmond laughed, shrugging his rather broad shoulders. "I thought it was bloody brilliant, myself."

"Well, that's because you're a bullying git, aren't you?" Albus replied through his teeth. It was loud enough so that the two gossiping girls stopped their chatter to watch. Desmond smiled his twisted, unfriendly smile, although this time it was clear that a muscle was working furiously in one of his jaws.

"What did you just say to me?" he asked, still smiling, his teeth bared and his nose dangerously close to Albus's. Albus didn't back down.

"Oi!"

Desmond looked up. Tommy Jordan was walking toward them.

"Something the matter?" he asked, looking from Desmond to Albus, then back to Desmond.

"No. Nothing matters," Desmond said, giving Albus a nasty once-over before turning on his heel and departing.

"What's going on?" Tommy asked Albus. "I just got a message from Professor Longbottom saying your brother's switching Houses—"

"Wait – what?" Richard Murphy had obviously overheard. He was at Tommy's side so fast, he might have Apparated. "What do you mean 'switching Houses'? He can't – what the – that's just not done. You must have heard wrong."

"Don't worry… Longbottom said it'd only be for a week or two," Tommy said a bit uncertainly, as if he was still trying to make sense of it. "Apparently it's got to do with some sort of row James had with Scorpius Malfoy."

Tommy shook his head hopelessly.

"Scorpius…" muttered Albus. "Do you know where he went?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Tommy replied. "I imagine he's somewhere inside the castle, though, if he's smart. Looks like it's about to rain buckets outside…"

He glanced toward a window. The sky outdoors had indeed gone very gray – Albus hadn't even noticed the fast change in the weather.

"If you want to see him," Tommy suggested, "you could always wait until later this evening. He'll come back to the common room at some point."

Given what had just happened, Albus wasn't too sure about that. And, figuring he could find no more help from Tommy or Murphy, he left the common room to look for Scorpius himself.

As he descended Gryffindor Tower, he heard rain beginning to whisper against the castle walls. A furious storm was kicking up outside. It occurred to Albus that he hadn't decided where to look first. Hogwarts was so vast, after all. Maybe Tommy had been right. It probably would have been a better idea to wait until Scorpius came back. Unless he wanted to risk Gryffindor's points by being out after hours – which no doubt would have made him even more unpopular than he was already – Scorpius _had_ to come back to the common room at some point.

"Potter?"

He'd gotten all the way down to the Great Hall before he heard another human being's voice. Standing in the doorway of the Great Hall were Stephan Vaisey and (to Albus's great surprise) Rose.

"Rose!" As upset as Albus had been, he couldn't help feeling a bit relieved. Vaisey frowned; it had been he that had spoken. He seemed to understand, though, that Albus's first concern was for his injured cousin. "When did you get out of the hospital wing?"

"Not too long ago," Rose answered. Lowering her voice and looking around furtively, she added, "Nurse Nadine waited until Madam Pomfrey's back was turned and told me to make a run for it."

"That's…" Albus frowned. "You won't get in trouble?"

"Trouble?" repeated Rose. Her arm was still in a sling. "It's not like I can't walk around – what's the use of putting me up in a hospital bed for an entire weekend?"

Albus frowned at the cast. Still, though, the rest of Rose (spirits included) appeared to be fine, so he supposed she had a point.

"What are you doing _here_, then?" asked Albus. Really, he was curious what Rose was doing with Vaisey, but he didn't want to seem too bossy.

"Eating – what else?" replied Vaisey. "Well, I was eating with Rowan. Then Rose showed up, wondering why you weren't with us. Rowan bolted… again."

"Honestly, it's so juvenile," mused Rose, obviously starting to get annoyed with this treatment. Turning back to Albus, she asked, "So are you about to eat?"

Albus shook his head. "I'm actually looking for Scorpius."

Rose raised her eyebrows. Vaisey cocked his head.

"Scorpius?" repeated Rose. "Why?"

"To see if he's alright," Albus answered.

"Why—" Vaisey started to speak, but he cut himself off and suddenly became very occupied with a nearby suit of armor.

"What happened?" Rose asked.

Albus sighed heavily. Then he tried to explain everything he knew – that he'd gone back to the common room, had run into Professor Longbottom on the way, and the both of them had gone up together to find James standing over Scorpius, wand in hand. Rose put her hands to her mouth.

"Oh… why would James do that?" she moaned.

"It's simple, isn't it?" It was not Albus who had answered, but Vaisey. Albus and Rose both turned to look at him. "Scorpius must have tried to attack him or something."

"Must've been some sort of misunderstanding," said Rose, frowning.

Vaisey gave a weak, mirthless smile. "Being a bit kind to Malfoy there, aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to –" Albus started, but Rose cut him off, tearful and talking shrilly.

"Well, _excuse_ _me _if I show just a bit of kindness to the boy that _saved my life today_!"

Vaisey now looked uncomfortable. "I suppose… I'd have hated to see the death of a classmate my first week here. That was… admirable, I guess. But…"

Something darkened on Vaisey's face.

"Tom Riddle did a lot of admirable things while he was at Hogwarts, too," he said. "Prefect, Head Boy… by all accounts he was a model student, wasn't he? Of course, somewhere between Prefect and Head Boy he also got around to being a mass murderer…"

"Wh – Scorpius, the next Voldemort? That's mad!" Albus retorted.

"Is it?" Vaisey said, with a maddening raised-eyebrow expression. "When you're rotten to the core like the Malfoys were, it's only a matter of time before that nature wins out."

"Here's a thought," Rose interrupted. "Why don't we all try getting to know him first before–"

Albus took one look at Vaisey's face and knew instantly that Rose had said something that hadn't gone over well.

"My family's had _quite enough_ dealings with the Malfoys, thanks," Vaisey was shaking with anger, red blotches appearing on his normally pale face. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed off. Albus glared at his back. For as nasty as Desmond had been to everyone since their arrival at Hogwarts, this hurt much worse. Albus, if only for a few days, had thought that Vaisey was alright.

"Brilliant," he muttered savagely, thinking of the welcome that would await him if and when he finally returned to the common room. "I wonder if I can get myself exiled from Gryffindor like James did?"

"Exiled?" Rose looked up, appalled.

Albus shook his head. "Never mind… let's try to find Scorpius. You said you wanted to thank him, right?"

She nodded silently. "Yes… I'd like that."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: The Serpent's Lair**

**Albus**

Very reluctantly, Albus and Rose first ventured outside and onto the grounds. Rain was falling in sheets, soaking him down to his skin. As they strayed farther away from the castle itself, Albus caught sight of a large hut. With a pang of guilt, he remembered that today was Friday. He was supposed to meet Hagrid for tea along with James. He wondered if news of Rose's accident had reached Hagrid's ears. Totems engraved with runic symbols and spires of rock dotted the hill. At the feet of one of them was a mass of black robes.

"Is someone sitting there?" Rose asked.

The bundle of robes moved. It was indeed a person – a small, blond-haired person. Scorpius didn't seem to know or care that there were two people watching him. His head was buried somewhere between his arms and knees. Even as Albus and Rose drew close to him, he did not acknowledge their presence. Albus looked at Rose, who nodded.

"Scorpius?" he uttered.

Scorpius looked up. His face, normally pale, was pink and sodden. His eyes were very red. His teeth contorted into a terrible snarl.

Albus barely had any time to react. He leapt aside as Scorpius went barreling by him and fell to the muddy ground. He whipped around.

"You?" Scorpius breathed, his eyes wide and tearful. "Come to have a laugh about me, have you? Or maybe you're here to finish what your brother started?"

Scorpius tried to dig into his robes. A horrible look of realization washed over him, and the little color his face had gotten left it. Albus went into his own robes. Scorpius whimpered and threw his hands over his face.

"I'm not gonna jinx you," Albus said loudly. Scorpius lowered his hands to find Albus standing in front of him, holding out a wand. Scorpius's facial expression changed to one of surprise as he recognized his own wand. "You dropped – I mean… left it."

Scorpius took his wand from Albus and studied it for a moment. He backpedaled from Albus and Rose, then stuck the tip of his wand upwards.

"Stop!" Albus heard Rose shriek. He had already gone for his own wand.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!"_

Albus hadn't known what kind of damage an eleven year-old wizard could do to himself with his own wand – or even whether a wand would be willing to attack its own master. But he had no intention of taking a chance on either. Scorpius slid backward and landed on his backside as his wand went airborne for a moment, and landed next to him. Rose broke down and buried her face in her hands. Scorpius had started sobbing, too. Albus lowered his wand, now feeling very uncomfortable.

"Why?!" Scorpius snapped. "Why in the name of Merlin or whatever gods… _why_ did I have to be born a Malfoy? _WHY?!_"

He looked up at Albus. His face was streaming tears, and the look he was giving was a mix of agony, loathing, and desperation. (Rose was still wailing somewhere vaguely behind Albus.)

"My father and grandfather did some things most people won't forgive," Scorpius said unsteadily. "I get that. But _I wasn't around!_ I wasn't even _born_! I do my best to do good, or to just stay out of the way. But it's never enough! Not for you, not for Gryffindor… not for anybody! What is it going to take? Do I have to snap my wand in half and live as a Muggle for the rest of my life? Should I just throw myself off the bloody Astronomy tower and be done with it?"

He let out a few heavy breaths, like an angry bull. Albus could tell he'd been bottling up all of these feelings for a good while – maybe months. Maybe years.

"People shouldn't be treating you the way they are," Albus said quietly. "I know you probably wanted to be a Slytherin, but…"

"I would have rather _died_." Scorpius said desperately. "It's all I could think about on the train ride over… sitting _by myself_ in my _own_ compartment because no one else wanted to come near me. How long is it? About nine hours? Ten? And even when I got into the chair and Gladstone put the Hat on my head, it's all I was thinking. '_Not Slytherin… anywhere but Slytherin.'_"

"But you didn't end up in Slytherin, did you?" asked Albus.

"No," Scorpius answered. "I'm in Gryffindor – and I'm not sure if I belong there after all."

"You do," Albus said, trying to sound reassuring. "If the Hat Sorted you into Gryffindor, you do."

"_Do I look brave to you?_" Scorpius asked, his voice breaking.

"But you _are_ brave, aren't you?" Rose had finally composed herself enough to speak. Scorpius looked up at her. "I mean… your family's become known for doing… some horrible things, and it'd be easy just to hide, or follow in those footsteps because you feel like you have to, but you want to go a different way. And you probably knew… you knew people wouldn't trust you right away, didn't you? But you came anyway. And I'm really, _really_ glad you did, or else—"

Scorpius looked down. "…I don't know if I'd have done it if it'd been anybody else. But you've been very kind to me. I couldn't let you die… not if I could help it."

Rose nodded blearily and seemed to be choking up again.

"All the same," Albus explained on her behalf. "She's very grateful. And so am I."

Scorpius stared up at him with a mix of surprise and incredulity, almost as if he had never heard another person speak those words to him before.

"We should get out of this rain now, shouldn't we?" asked Albus. Scorpius inclined his head in a silent nod.

As Scorpius got to his feet and the three of them made their way back up toward the castle, Albus took one look over his shoulder and down toward the hut at the bottom of the hill.

_Sorry, Hagrid, _he thought before finally departing.

By the time they set foot inside Hogwarts Castle again, the three of them were all in much better moods, but terribly soaked. Albus frowned. "Brilliant. I think I've got rain water pooling in my underpants."

"Mum knows a spell for drying off things," Rose remarked, sloshing alongside Albus to the right. "I can't remember what the incantation was, though…"

"Well, don't guess," Albus said darkly. "If you're wrong, you might blast my backside clear off… or worse…"

"Oh, don't worry, I wouldn't do that," Rose said airily. "I'm not thick."

They were walking toward the Great Hall. A young couple (judging by the way they were holding hands) was walking the other way past them. Albus barely caught sight of the very distinctive, brownish locks of hair…

"Hey, Freddy! _Freddy!_" he shouted. The teenage wizard turned around. His girlfriend, Laurel Cross, was a dark-skinned and very pretty Hufflepuff fourth year. She was holding a book and looking impatient.

"What were you lot doing?" Freddy asked. "Decide to go for a swim in the lake or something?"

"Never mind that," Albus murmured. "Listen, you don't know the Drying Charm, do you?"

"Not the foggiest," Freddy replied, frowning. "Gran uses it all the time – I don't make it a point to remember all the magic she uses around the House, though."

"These family of yours, Freddy?" Laurel had spoken.

"Oh, yeah, that's right, you haven't met," Freddy said quickly. "Laurel, this is Albus and Rose. They're just starting this year."

"Who's the other boy?" asked Laurel.

"That's, erm…" Freddy hadn't remembered Scorpius's name. "Malfoy."

Albus resisted the urge to cringe. Scorpius had shrunk rather discreetly behind Albus and Rose. Meanwhile, Laurel gave the trio of first years a curious look.

"Oh… alright," she said. Turning to Freddy, she added, "Anyway, it's _Ariditotum,_"

"_Aritotum?_" repeated Freddy incorrectly.

"That'll Transfigure them into prunes," Laurel said flatly. Albus gave Laurel a look of horror, seriously hoping that Freddy had started dating her for her sense of humor. "It's _Aridi—_y'know what? Never mind, I'll do it."

She pulled out her wand.

"_Ariditotum!_"

Albus hoped for one second that this wasn't some horrible prank. Then, he felt warmth rushing over him like hot breath. It reminded him of the few times he'd traveled by Floo powder, except without the feeling that he was about to lose his lunch. When the strange breeze stopped, he felt no more dampness in his pants… or anywhere else, for that matter.

"_That's_ what it was!" exclaimed Rose, studying herself. Her hair was still awkwardly lank and plastered to her head, but now instead of being completely rain-sodden, she rather looked like someone who had showered and towel-dried very hastily. "Thanks a lot."

"It was nice meeting you… I guess," Laurel said, turning on her heel. Freddy, naturally, followed.

"I don't think she likes me very much," Scorpius murmured morosely once the two were out of earshot.

"Oh, come off it, you can't think like that," Albus told him sharply. "The whole wizarding world's not out to get you."

Scorpius, for his part, looked like he needed much more convincing. They all walked back into the Great Hall. The enchanted sky-ceiling above was violet-gray with dark clouds. Phantom rain droplets fell from it, seemingly disappearing into nonbeing about halfway through their descents. The Hall itself was relatively empty. Most people had already gone back to their common rooms from dinner, Albus figured. At the middle left table sat a familiar-looking girl…

"Oh, sod," Scorpius murmured. The girl was a Gryffindor, but didn't look interested in bullying Scorpius – or doing anything else, for that matter. She was eating rather violently, if there was such a thing. She speared a chunk of meatloaf very forcefully, as if imagining the face of an unseen enemy on her fork instead.

"Let's move quietly," Rose whispered. "Maybe she won't see us."

Albus didn't see any particular reason to avoid Sylvia Thomas, but in order to keep the peace, he cooperated… or at least he tried. Sylvia, as if she had been waiting for Albus to show up, looked straight at him and jumped to her feet.

"Uh-oh," muttered Rose as Sylvia made a beeline right toward them. She arrived in front of Albus with a huff.

"Uh… hi, Sylvia," said Albus a bit awkwardly.

"There you are," she sighed, almost as if she'd asked Albus to dinner and he'd shown up late. "You weren't in the common room, I guess?"

"Uh, no… not for the last…" Albus didn't know how long they'd been out looking for Scorpius (who had single-filed himself all the way to the back of the line behind Albus and a bewildered Rose).

Rose coughed.

"Oh… hello, Rose," Sylvia said a bit too brightly. "Shoulder doing alright?"

"I'll survive, I think," Rose said, her voice somewhat chilly.

"Common room's all abuzz about the little duel your brother had with Scorpius," Sylvia remarked. "McLaggen's going around trying to say that Scorpius was going to use some sort of Dark curse or something… which… well, it's McLaggen. I just kind of assume anything he says is a load of—"

"Thanks," said Albus, looking at her askance. "What's that got to do with you, though?"

"Not much, I guess," admitted Sylvia. "But then that Vaisey… _peacock_ came in talking about how 'Albus Potter's betrayed us all.' So, naturally, I asked him what he was going on about."

"And he said something about Scorpius," Albus said. Sylvia nodded.

"I told him to sod off," she said, smiling with a grim satisfaction. "You're perfectly at liberty to make friends with who you like, aren't you? I don't think we'll be on speaking terms from now on. He looked like he would've hexed me if he'd known a good one."

"'Betrayed', huh? That's what he said?" Albus repeated. His list of friends in his dormitory was growing short indeed. Desmond had probably wanted to punch Albus the last time they'd spoken face-to-face. Vaisey, for whatever reason, had a grudge against Scorpius that seemed extend to anybody that thought Scorpius wasn't the next terrible Dark wizard in-training. Rowan Lester was alright for the most part – except he had such a phobia of any female his own age that he wasn't exactly reliable, either.

"I wonder if there's a good jinx for removing someone's mouth?" Sylvia asked. "I'd have used it on him. Probably would have done McLaggen, too, while I was at it…"

She sat down again, going back to her food, but hesitating. She looked back up at Albus and the others and then back to her plate.

Albus frowned. Sylvia hadn't said it – she was probably much too proud – but she'd had nearly as hard a time making friends as Scorpius himself. Albus turned over his shoulder to see Rose. She had a look on her face that said all too clearly, _Do we have to?_ Scorpius appeared indifferent. One hand was vaguely clutching his stomach. _I don't care where – can we just eat something?_

Albus took his seat next to Sylvia. To his great surprise, Scorpius quickly followed his lead and flanked Sylvia on the other side. Rose, after a second's hesitation, sat down to Albus's left.

Harry had taken Albus aside for a long talk a couple of days before he had left. Albus had heard the usual things from his father that day: pay attention in class, don't hex your classmates, don't break school rules unless you have a very, _very_ good reason…

"But have fun," Harry had told him. "For the next seven years, Hogwarts is going to be your home away from home… so you might as well enjoy it. You're more fortunate than I was – you'll have lots of family there. Rose, your brother… Lily, eventually, and all your cousins. But try to make some other friends, too. If you make some real friends early, they have a funny way of sticking to you."

Albus looked to his right and left.

"Scorpius, your flying's really good," he heard Sylvia say. "Did you know how before you got here?"

"A little bit… we'd always take our vacations out to the countryside. Less people."

Albus sighed and began helping Rose fix her plate. He didn't want her to overtax her arm, after all. The year – his stay at Hogwarts – was still very young. But if these were indeed the friends he would have for most of his time here, he figured he could do much, much worse.

**James**

James observed the torches to each side of him as he walked this dimly lit passageway. They were blazing with emerald-green flames – the kind of firelight that reminded James a bit of active Floo powder, which would always turn the fire from its normal color to a shade a bit like this. As he continued to walk, he watched his own shadow dance upon the walls.

For wizards that supposedly weren't all evil to a man, this lot sure liked dodgy surroundings. It was bad enough that this location was underground. He felt rather like he was walking down to a dungeon.

He hit a dead end. A circular, stone slab with the embossment of a coiling snake stood in front of him, flanked by two torches that were burning with a brilliant shade of green.

James eyed the slab for a moment then looked over his shoulder. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end with magical power.

A loud crunching sound made James jump. He took a startled step backward from the snake carving and whipped out his wand all in one motion. The eyes of the stone snake, black and lifeless holes at first, now shone with shimmering, silvery pinpricks.

"Passsssword?" the stone figure was speaking – or hissing. Perhaps a bit of both.

James frowned. Why, exactly, would Neville send him down here without a password?

He figured the worst thing that could happen is that he'd be turned away. If that happened, he'd just have to go up to Neville and explain that he couldn't get in.

"My name is James Potter," he said. "I was sent here on a special – erm – Professor Longbottom told me to come down here. I'm to…"

He paused. He could hardly believe he was saying this.

"I'm to live here for… I suppose until he says different."

"Jamessssss Potter, you ssssssay?" the stone snake hissed again. "Do you come in peaccccccce?"

James didn't quite know how, but he knew the way he must answer. "Yes. I come in peace."

The glowing silver eyes went green.

"I sssshall hold you to that, Jamessss Potter… Welcome… to Housssssse… Sssssssssslytherin."

The circular door swung open.

The Slytherin common room seemed to have the same eerie, greenish glow as the halls outside of it. The scariest thing about it, though, was how quiet it was. James was used to noise; at home, in the Gryffindor common room… and he was the type that would make some noise of his own if he couldn't find any. But there was no radio playing. There were no gossipy girls or snogging couples occupying the couches. It was not completely silent – that wouldn't have been as scary. People were talking in hushed murmurs and whispers. It almost sounded as if a breeze was blowing through the space around him.

"James Potter." A voice sounded from behind him. He turned and whipped his wand out again. A collective gasp nearly sucked all the air out of the common room.

"Oi!" an older Slytherin male had shouted.

"Put your wand down, fool!" James heard another boy snarl. "That's Harry Potter's son! You'll have every Auror from here to London up your arse!"

The young wizard directly confronting James was about his height, but so thin under his t-shirt and jeans that it looked like he could blow away in a stiff breeze. James vaguely recognized him from somewhere, which was saying a lot, as he'd never made it a habit to hang around Slytherins…

"I don't mean to attack you," the boy about his age said. "But if you don't lower your wand, I'll be forced to defend myself."

James eyed the young Slytherin distrustfully, allowing his eyes to dart around the latter's shoulder. Much older and bigger Slytherins – both boys and girls – were behind him. It took a moment for him to realize that he was surrounded by no less than two dozen of them. None of them had their wands out – yet – but all of them were eyeing him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

It was all up to James's trust in Neville that he finally lowered his wand. After all, he didn't figure Neville to send him some place where he'd eat about twenty different hexes.

"My name is Tellius Nott," the young boy explained. James stared at him. "And you're James Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes," James said.

"I was told by Professor Ambrose that you'll be in our quarters," Tellius explained. Ithamar Ambrose was the Potions professor at Hogwarts, and head of Slytherin House – the third man in a row to hold both of those titles. He was a soft-spoken, somewhat bookish individual that cared more that his students knew their draughts and antidotes than whether Slytherin (or any other House, for that matter) won the House Championship in a given year. James thought that, perhaps due to the history of that particular post, Professor Ambrose went out of his way to be as inconspicuous as possible.

"Aren't you a first year, though?" James asked.

Tellius shrugged. "I'm only a messenger."

Tellius Nott led him through the Slytherin common room; as James had half expected, the common room's fireplace burned with emerald green flames. James tried to keep his eyes forward; he was sure that most of the Slytherins were staring at him. James had no intention of making friends with these Slytherins. He was going to serve his time, however long that was, and be shot of this place. Even if it wasn't the Slytherin common room… it just gave him the creeps.

"Tellius! Hey, Tellius!" a very small, girlish voice, not unlike that of James's sister Lily, called. Tellius looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, bugger," the boy swore with a flat sort of resignation.

From seemingly out of nowhere appeared a little witch indeed, a little over a head shorter than James. Dark red, wavy tresses flowed from underneath an old-fashioned witch's hat. Her eyes were blue and perhaps (like the hat) a couple of sizes too large for her head.

"James? James Potter?" she asked, her voice bouncing almost as much as she did. She looked a bit like Uncle Ron's old owl, Pigwidgeon, who had been quite the hyperactive little creature before age finally mellowed him a bit. "Is this James Potter, Tellius?"

Tellius had a look on his face as if his worst fear in this situation had come to fruition. "Um… yes. Potter, meet Frieda –"

"Brynne!" the little girl suddenly snapped.

"Frieda Brynne Walter, who would much prefer it if you did _not_ call her by her first name," Tellius finished, looking flustered.

"Well… 'Frieda' sounds like the name of an old woman, doesn't it?" she asked. James took another look at her face.

"I remember you!" he exclaimed. Trying to hide how funny he thought it had been, he went on, "You tripped during the Sorting. Fell on your face right in front of everyone."

"Hee…" she giggled cutely, going a bit pink. She leaned in toward the two boys (Tellius recoiled noticeably), her blue eyes wide as she dropped her voice to a whisper. "Stay away from Marsha Flint."

She went skipping away. James watched after her for a moment.

"She doesn't seem like she…" James murmured. "…like she belongs here."

"I thought that same thing," Tellius said, frowning. "She seems much more like… well, like one of _your_ lot. But apparently most of her family has been in Slytherin, so that's where the Hat put her."

"And who's Marsha Flint again?" James asked. He'd remembered the name vaguely from the Sorting.

"Haven't seen her, have you? Frankly, she's a bit hard to miss. You'll run into her if you're here long enough," Tellius replied. "And when you do, I suggest you run clear in the other direction. Brynne, on the other hand, seems to be nearly impossible to avoid. She's not all _that_ bad, truthfully, but…"

"Why would anyone want to avoid her?" James asked. Brynne was skipping away, humming a song to herself, seemingly oblivious to the fact that other Slytherins were looking up from their books momentarily, only to shake their heads and resume their reading.

"Everyone says she's off her rocker," Tellius said, dropping her voice to a whisper. "She seems like the type that's perfectly nice and cheerful until the day she finally snaps."

"Why would – never mind," James stopped himself. He didn't want to seem too interested.

"Well, follow me… first years' rooms are at the bottom," Tellius said, walking toward a staircase that seemed to spiral even lower into the depths.

As they descended lower and lower, James couldn't resist. "So did Salazar Slytherin have vampires in his first couple of classes? Why are the dormitories so far underground?"

"Apparently, it's for defence purposes," said Tellius. "Gryffindor's living quarters are in a tower. Naturally, in war, the highest points are usually the first attacked."

"Attacked?" James repeated. He was about to ask how that could possibly happen, but fortunately the aware, sensible part of his brain stopped the words on their way to his mouth.

"But Gryffindors are front-line fighters by nature, so it suits them – you," Tellius sighed. "As for our house, we would gather a strategy and serve as reinforcements."

"…While all the frontline fighters are getting killed doing the actual fighting," James muttered, finding Tellius's explanation distasteful.

"I'll have you know that there were several Slytherin casualties during the last war as well," said Tellius. "And that it was the reinforcements from Hogsmeade and the surrounding areas that turned the tide of that final battle."

"I'm not sure I agree with that," said James in a very deadpan voice, still eyeing the green-burning torches on the walls. "I think it was, you know… when my father actually killed Voldemort."

"Fair point," said Tellius, which surprised James. He stopped on the steps. "But realistically, one could see the Battle of Hogwarts as two separate skirmishes – one involving Harry Potter and Voldemort, and another involving everyone else. Maybe there was an element of 'destiny' or whatever you want to call it between those two wizards, but the other combatants in that battle had no such aid."

Tellius stayed silent for a moment, his pale face flickering in the green torches.

"'We were parties to a battle we could not decide, witnesses to magic too singular and too incomprehensible for us,'" he said, and he seemed to be quoting someone. "That was from a letter written from Azkaban to us by Tellius Nott I – my grandfather… and one of Tom Riddle's classmates and associates."

James's eyes widened.

"Your grandfather…"

"Yes," Tellius said, and he seemed neither particularly proud nor particularly ashamed. "He was a Death Eater. One of the first, in fact. And my father was a sympathizer in his early years, raised by his family to hate those of so-called 'lower' blood status and support the ideals of the man that would come to be known as Lord Voldemort… but he never took the Dark Mark."

"But he didn't fight against them, either, did he?" asked James, eyeing Tellius distrustfully.

"That was more a question of family loyalty than loyalty to a cause," Tellius explained. "Even if your beliefs were completely opposite, could _you_ find it in your heart to duel to kill _your_ own father?"

James went silent, imagining if, by some strange and terrible twist of fate, his own father turned into a Dark wizard. Would he be able to duel him – to strike the killing blow if necessary?

"My grandfather was a lamb following a bad shepherd," Tellius said wearily. "And my father, Theodore, never quite forgave him for that. In his estimation – and in mine – the true Slytherin takes his mind and experiences and decides for himself the correct path. In other words, James…"

He turned to look James right in the eye.

"I don't see things in terms of the war," he said. "Or even how people believe a member of House Slytherin should act. Quite a few of the Slytherins are like me. So the only enemies you should expect to find down here are the ones you choose to make…"

A smirk crossed his face.

"Aside from Marsha Flint and Amara Zabini, who are generally unpleasant and make enemies of just about everyone, including each other."

And Tellius started down the stairs again. There was a part of James that wanted to trust the boy's word. _But_, James reminded himself, _snakes' tongues hide really sharp fangs…_

"We'll see," James muttered to himself. "We'll see."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: A Fateful Conversation**

**Albus**

The events of that first Friday of term seemed to jumpstart the clock in Albus's world. Before he knew it, a pleasant routine of people, places, and times had begun to embrace him. Albus, Rose, and Scorpius Malfoy went everywhere together as if joined at the shoulders by Permanent Sticking Charms. It was only natural, he supposed. The three certainly did not separate much in their courses. As they were all in the same year and in the same house, they all had the same classes with the same professors at the same time. They were often joined by Sylvia Thomas – most of all on Friday afternoons when Rose was forced back to her flying lessons. (Rose was still a bit lukewarm toward her, and Albus feared that it was simply a conflict of personalities that wouldn't ever be resolved.)

One thing was for certain, though; if Sylvia weren't around, things would have been much less interesting. Albus and Scorpius weren't big talkers themselves, but Sylvia always seemed to have something to say. Her topics of conversation would flip between goings-on in the common room ("Your cousin Roxanne's lucky Greta Stanford has a sense of humor. If she'd pulled that on one of the other Prefects, she might've cost us about a hundred points") and her father's new position on the Hogwarts staff ("He says he's going to try to convince Flitwick to get the governors to put up for Firebolt II's for the flying classes! _The Firebolt II, _Scorpius! I know they're about ten years old, but those are _really good brooms_. You think the governors will go for it?")

As passionate as Sylvia could be about Quidditch or anything broom-related, though, she still came up a terribly distant second best to Scorpius, whose eyes would assume a ravenous expression if anyone brought up the sport around him. Albus was a fan, yes, but he wasn't quite so mad about it. His mother had been a professional player at one point, and she had a lifetime subscription to _Which Broomstick_, but he still didn't know "which broomstick" had the best acceleration, or the minute differences between the Firebolt III and the Cleansweep X-V (yes, according to Sylvia, it was pronounced that way, and she was rather insistent about it.)

"Cleansweeps' top speed isn't as good as the Firebolts," Sylvia explained one Friday toward the end of the month, "but their handling isn't so fickle. Which would you prefer, Scorpius?"

"Neither – have you seen the new model that's come out this year?" asked Scorpius.

"Oh, you mean the Shadowfax?" asked Sylvia, tilting her head.

"The Shadowfax? Those cost a fortune!" replied Albus, who had seen the black-handled broom walking through Diagon Alley. His dad had looked at his mum, shook his head, and walked away muttering something about 'inflation', whatever that was.

"Of course, first years have to have passed the flying lessons to be able to ride a broom legally, _and_ in order to have one of their own on the grounds," Sylvia commented, looking significantly from Albus to Scorpius, "they must have made their House Quidditch team."

"I know that," Scorpius said, regarding Sylvia with a sort of impatience.

"Then you'll also know tryouts are this weekend," said Sylvia.

"You're joking, right?" asked Scorpius, and he looked legitimately angry. "I've only been waiting for this day since I was five years old."

Sylvia's eyebrows popped – that was new information.

"You're trying out, then?" asked Albus.

"I wasn't going to this year – then I found out about that Polkiss bloke getting hurt," Scorpius admitted.

"So you're going out for Seeker, then?" Albus asked.

"Of _course_ he's going out for Seeker – what do you think?" Sylvia had talked over Scorpius's answer. "He's wiry and agile – perfect Seeker's build."

"Except in bad weather," admitted Scorpius. "You probably want a more well-built guy, like… well, like Desmond."

Desmond, in the last week or two, had thankfully not been too overtly foul to Albus or Scorpius. But he _had_ started telling anyone who cared to listen – and a lot of people who didn't – about his plans for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Sylvia laughed disdainfully. "I've heard all about Desmond's bluster that he's going out for Beater. Personally, I'm hoping he makes a fool of himself."

"He might actually be good, you know," said Scorpius, almost as if he hated to admit it. "He definitely has a Beater's build."

"'Beater's build'? It's not all about 'build', you know," said Sylvia. "You also have to have intelligence, good aim, and a bit of a mean streak. Like the twins that played when our dads were in school – they turned Beater into a bloody art form."

She grinned at Albus, who knew she was talking about his uncles, Fred and George Weasley.

"Well," Scorpius said, frowning, "we know McLaggen has the 'mean streak' thing down…"

A high-pitched squeal, a bit like a firework going off, preceded a running form into the Great Hall. Scorpius turned to his left. Albus leaned backward and around him.

"Rose?"

"I passed, I passed!" she screamed, throwing herself into Albus's arms, almost before he'd had the chance to stand and collect himself. Rose had watched the second flying lesson from the ground, as she hadn't mustered up the nerve to get on a broom again. But, now, on the third, she had evidently succeeded.

"Good work!" Albus exclaimed delightedly.

"Well done!" Sylvia said, beaming. "Now you can try out for the Quidditch team, too, right?"

"Quidditch team?" Rose uttered, her smile fading. "You're joking, right? If I never get on another broom, that'll be just fine with me."

Scorpius was on his feet, and Rose had turned to him next, with a bit of a strange glow in her facial expression that Albus hadn't seen. Scorpius looked for a second like cogs were working in his brain, almost as if he'd been hoping Rose would tackle him as well. As for Rose, she seemed to be holding herself in, but just barely.

"Congrats," he finally said. "I knew you had it in you."

"Thanks," she answered breathlessly, beaming, and she sat down.

There was a long silence.

"Are you at least coming to _watch_ the tryouts?" Sylvia finally asked.

"Wh – of course I am!" said Rose immediately, as if offended. "Freddy's going to be trying out for Beater, after all."

"Yeah, that's right," Albus remarked, having remembered just then.

"So Freddy Weasley against Desmond McLaggen, huh?" Sylvia looked like Christmas had come early. "Hah… Desmond hasn't a shot now. Freddy's got pedigree _and_ three years' experience on his side. Better luck next year, I guess."

"And James," Rose added.

"James?" Albus asked. James had been a bit adamant over the summer about _not_ trying out for Quidditch, simply because that would be what everyone would have expected him to do.

"Oh, _honestly,_ Al," Rose sighed, almost laughing. "You really think James'll be able to keep himself away? He takes to the air like a mermaid to water. It's almost like he was born for it."

"Will, erm… will James be going out for Seeker?" Scorpius asked. He sounded like he'd almost been afraid to ask.

"James _likes_ Chaser, I know that for a fact, but Seeker's the open spot," Rose mused. "I dunno… and I haven't seen him at length for about two weeks, either. He's a wild card."

"Malfoy versus Potter, round two?" uttered Sylvia, popping her eyebrows upward. Scorpius obviously didn't like this comment and buried his face in one of his palms. "Friends or no… almost seems like the two families are destined to compete against one another until the end of time, doesn't it? I can't give either one an edge at this point. Haven't seen James fly, but if he's as good as you say he is, Rose, then he may be a match for Scorpius after all…"

"You could probably announce if you wanted to," Scorpius sighed. Given his tone, Albus wasn't sure he'd meant it as a compliment. Sylvia certainly seemed to take it as such; her eyes brightened.

"You really think so?" she asked. The brightness of her eyes seemed to fade as she said, "Maybe I'll do that, then…"

"You're not going to try out?" asked Albus, who thought that she'd be the first one in line tomorrow – after Scorpius, whom he was convinced would set up camp at the pitch tonight if he could.

"Longbottom says he doesn't think it's a good idea," she replied sadly.

"Well…" Albus uttered, finding this strange. "He didn't actually say you _weren't_ allowed, did he?"

"No, but…" Sylvia grimaced. "It'd be really awkward if I played. Every call Gryffindor got, people would go, 'oh, that only happened because Sylvia's the Arbiter's daughter.' My dad's fair and calls everything down the middle like a good Arbiter should – but if somebody, say, fouled me really hard during a match, I don't even know how he'd react. He's rather protective of me, you see. Besides…"

She seemed to get some of her pep back.

"I'm a Chaser through and through… and there's a logjam at that spot," she said. "Maybe some other year – although I will talk to the professor about maybe announcing some matches. I'd like that."

"Well… I guess you can watch with me and Rose, then," Albus said.

"You're not trying out, either?" she asked, looking surprised.

"I don't really have a position," he said. "I don't fly quite like James, so I couldn't be a Chaser or Seeker. I'm not big enough to be a Keeper…"

"…And you don't like causing other people pain quite enough to be a good Beater," finished Sylvia. "Which isn't necessarily a bad thing."

Albus yawned early the next morning as he descended the stairs to the common room, only to find Rose there, sitting on the couch next to the fireplace, reading a book.

"Rose?"

"Al?" Rose looked up from her book. "You're up early."

"M-me?" yawned Albus. "Did you sleep _at all_ last night?"

"Of course I did," said Rose briskly. Albus couldn't tell whether she was lying or not.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Same reason you are," she answered. He clambered down the stairs and made his way toward the couch. Rose slid her feet off almost automatically. He sat down. A couple of moments later, her feet were poking him in the ribs.

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked, peering over her book.

"Um… sure," Albus uttered. He was used to this. Rose had done it ever since they had been very small – except, back then, the secrets had been things like "I smuggled a gnome into Gran's house" or "I nicked my mum's wand and tried a spell with it, and it worked."

"Do you _promise_ you won't tell?" she whispered.

"Do I ever tell any of your secrets, Rose?" asked Albus, a bit exasperated.

"Okay…" she still seemed hesitant. "Well…"

_Creak._ The door up to the Gryffindor boys' dorms had needed greasing for a while. It was just that the poor old caretaker, Filch (who had apparently been around since at least their parents' generation) just hadn't gotten around to it.

Scorpius Malfoy stood there – white-faced, white-haired in the dim light. Slowly, he descended the stairs as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was wearing denim jeans and a shirt that Albus knew now bore the picture of a Golden Snitch upon it.

"Albus? Rose?" he whispered. "What are you doing up?"

"We're going with you to the pitch, of course," Albus said simply.

"It's _five-fifty in the morning_!" Scorpius managed to exclaim and whisper at the same time.

"Yes, we're aware of that – we can both tell time," Albus answered.

"Are you serious?" Scorpius asked. Albus didn't see the problem.

"Yes."

"_Are you serious?_" he asked again, this time turning his eyes upon Rose.

"Well, of course we're serious," she said. "You think we'd get out of bed this early for a joke? …Scorpius?"

He had dropped his head and was looking at neither of them for a moment. When he looked up again, his eyes had gone very shiny in the firelight.

"I… really…" he murmured a bit dimly. "I don't know what to…"

Albus jumped to his feet. "C'mon, let's go – we're burning daylight."

So ironic and well-placed was this statement (the sun hadn't come over the horizon) that both Scorpius and Rose burst into quiet but appreciative laughter.

**James**

James awoke. The only way he knew as much was that his rather bizarre dream had ended. It had involved him hoisting the Quidditch Cup in victory, only for an enormous serpent to emerge from the cup and swallow him whole, while a voice sounding suspiciously like Tommy Jordan's announced the entire event with gusto.

He peered around the dark room a bit pointlessly – it was very nearly pitch black, after all. He groped around him for his wand.

"_Lumos."_

Setting it on the nearby dresser, he started to pull on the clothes he'd set out for himself last night.

_How the bloody hell is anyone supposed to tell what time it is with no windows? _He thought to himself, fuming. _If I ever see Neville again, I'm gonna tell him to take his 'lessons' and the Sword of Gryffindor, and stick the both of them right up his–_

He'd tried to pull his pants on both legs at the same time – big mistake. He toppled, crashing spectacularly into the ground and earning himself a throbbing pain in his forehead.

Tellius Nott's snoring halted for a moment, then continued. James felt like he could have dragged Tellius into the midst of an earthquake and the boy would have still slumbered on.

"Potter?"

Another Slytherin boy was staring at him from a bed opposite his own (which looked peculiar indeed with the hangings of Gryffindor colors amidst all the green, black, and silver).

"Just me, Bletchley," murmured James, not really feeling like talking. "Go back to sleep."

"No point now," Bletchley murmured. "Tryouts are today, aren't they?"

"For Gryffindor," James corrected him.

"Slytherin's are right after," Bletchley said. "It's almost eight, I think. I need to head to the Great Hall to grab a bite anyway. You coming?"

"Nope," James muttered. "Rather not fly on a full stomach."

This was only a half-truth. He had no intention of eating meals with a Slytherin – even a seemingly decent one like Bletchley. He finished dressing and left immediately – he'd be late at the rate he was going.

He swore to himself repeatedly as he stalked up the stairs to the Slytherin common room. Exactly when was Neville planning on allowing him to sleep in his own dormitory again? It was bad enough that he had no friends down here, but work was becoming difficult as well, with no Murphy to help him. Admittedly, Murphy wasn't the best person with whom to compare class notes, but he was still better than nothing. Professor Malcolm had been in rare form that week as well, and the only thing that had kept James from cheeking him in front of the entire class was the knowledge that Malcolm would have liked nothing better than to give James a detention and schedule it for the day of Quidditch tryouts.

The common room's green light was much more foreboding in its emptiness – although, in truth, the noise level wasn't much different. The silence was not complete, however; a vague humming caught James' ears as he entered the common room.

Standing in the common room's center was Brynne Walter, barefoot, alone, twirling a bit clumsily and singing to herself:

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald…_

Finally, James could not take anymore and asked, "What are you doing?"

Brynne did not jump or scream like James expected. She simply stopped and turned toward him, wearing a vague, demure smile. "Hi, James."

James squirmed a bit; Brynne's serenity was unnerving.

"Uh… hey," he murmured. "Listen, I'd love to talk, but I gotta… uh… Quidditch tryouts."

"Oh," Brynne said simply. James kept walking until he noticed Brynne shadowing him. Everything in him wanted to tell her to go away. "You're still here. It's been two weeks now."

"Thanks for reminding me," James said sourly.

Brynne frowned. "Don't you enjoy it?"

"Of course I don't enjoy it," James grumbled. "I want to be back in Gryffindor Tower – with Murphy and my cousins and friends. I'm tired of living underground like some sort of vampire, I'm tired of barely making it to classes on time because I can't find my way from here, I'm tired of not being able to talk above a whisper when I want, I'm tired of rooms with no windows, I'm tired of you lot, and I'm tired of _all _– _this – bloody – green._"

He stood there for a moment, fuming. He hadn't meant to vent all of his frustration and anger at Brynne, but she was the one who kept prodding him when he wasn't in the mood.

"You don't have many friends in Slytherin, do you?" she simply asked.

James's lip curled as he started to wonder to himself if Brynne deserved some of his venom after all. "Why would I want to make friends in Slytherin?"

"Well, Slytherins are cunning and resourceful." Brynne seemed as if she'd had this answer prepared. "Those sorts of people are always useful, right?"

"…Until they use that cunning and resourcefulness to stab you in the back," James said disdainfully.

"Do you think Gryffindors are perfect, then?" she asked seriously. James frowned.

"Of course I don't. I'm not an idiot," he said. Thinking mainly of Desmond McLaggen, that bully in his little brother's year, and another of his roommates that he didn't like, he added, "I know Gryffindor's got its fair share of gits."

"So why can't you think there are nice Slytherins?" she asked, almost sounding pained. "_I've_ never done anything mean to you."

James frowned. He hadn't come up here to have this conversation.

"I'm already late," he said, deciding to walk away. She grabbed onto his wrist. He whirled around.

"James Potter. Dance with me," she said. It wasn't a request.

"Dance?" James now could not resist looking at Brynne like she was mad. "But… I can't. And there's no music."

Brynne's pull, as light and as delicate as a feather on his wrist, exerted more control over him than pure force ever would have done.

"You know, James Potter," she said as she started to move to her own rhythm and he tried to follow her. "_I_ don't hate _you_ at all."

"What?" James uttered, bewildered by this statement. "You should?"

"If we're playing by your rules," Brynne said simply, her face growing a bit somber for the first time. "Do you know my mum's name?"

"Uh… no," James stammered. "Why would I know that?"

"Her birth name was Carrow," Brynne said. "Her name was Carrow, and she was a twin, too. Terrible coincidence. I don't even know if she – _we – _were related to… them, but my mum shared the name… that was enough for the lot that came, looking for revenge about ten years ago…"

She explained this story with a strange detachment, but the smile was noticeably gone from her face.

"My father tried to help – they murdered him. They tortured her until she went mad, I hear," Brynne explained, her voice no more than a whisper. "Then they killed her."

"Who were 'they'?" asked James, almost afraid to know the answer.

"A few Gryffindors," Brynne said, "Acting, they said, for the Carrows' victims."

James frowned. A lump was forming in his throat. "But your mum wasn't a Dark witch, was she?"

"Sometimes, when I sleep, and I dream," she said very deliberately. "I can hear her. My mum, I mean. I was in my crib when it happened. I can hear her screaming…"

"Stop," James withdrew from Brynne as if she had burned him, whirling around and turning his back on her. "Just… stop it."

"Funny thing, they didn't touch me," she said, looking straight up at the ceiling curiously. "Maybe it's because they've heard things… it's very old magic, when someone dies to protect another…"

"Shut up already!" James exclaimed. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Brynne dropped her head. "I thought you should know – that's all."

More silence. James wanted to escape, to run, yet at the same time, he felt rooted to the spot, unable – or perhaps unwilling – to move a muscle.

"If it matters to you at all," Brynne said, "I grew up very happy. My Aunt Flora raised me like her own daughter. Still hasn't married, though…"

"What happened to them?" James asked. "The people that killed your parents?"

"Oh, one of the Ministry's Aurors saw to their capture," Brynne said casually. "The Minister put him over the whole Auror Office not long after that."

James whirled around and faced her again. Math wasn't his strong suit, but it hadn't taken him that long. "My dad."

"Yes," Brynne said. A bit dreamily, she remarked, "They were here together, you know. My mum, my aunt, and your father. Aunt Flora says she didn't know him well, but..."

"I don't understand how you ended up in Slytherin," James finally said. "You just don't seem like… like the type, I guess."

"'Type'?" Brynne asked, tilting her head. "There's supposed to be a 'type'?"

James couldn't believe his ears. "All houses have a 'type' – that's how we get Sorted. Slytherins are cunning, resourceful, ambitious… and they lean toward the Dark Arts. Voldemort himself was once in Slytherin, you know…"

"So were my mum and auntie," Brynne said. James was surprised by the lack of malice in her voice. "_They_ didn't use the Dark Arts. But… my mum died because people like you thought she did. Just because she was a Slytherin. Don't you think there's something wrong with that?"

She looked right up at him. The expression in her blue eyes was so innocent and guileless, yet it penetrated James like the sharpest of swords.

"Neville put you up to this," he said suspiciously. "He's having you feed me this story to make me feel sorry for you."

Brynne sighed heavily. "I wish that was true."

James swallowed hard, backing away from her.

"I've gotta go," he muttered. "Tryouts are at ten…"

"I'll be there… watching," she said a bit dreamily.

James frowned. "You can't… if the team sees you're not in Gryffindor, they'll probably run you off."

"But I'm a Slytherin, remember?" she whispered blithely. "We're 'resourceful'."

She put a finger to her lips, giggled, and skipped off toward the hallway that led to the dormitory staircase, leaving James alone in the common room once again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Return of the Great Quidditch Clan**

**Albus**

Albus and Rose slid into the stands. The tryouts were being held on the practice field where flying lessons took place on Fridays. The mid-morning sun had grown warm, making Albus immensely glad that they weren't required to be in their heavy, black Hogwarts robes on weekends. Initially, Scorpius stood on the field alone, looking around. From what Albus had heard of the tryouts, the school was issuing the brooms to be used. Albus understood why. After all, it wouldn't have been fair for any one person to have an advantage just because they had a better broom than the rest. But given what had happened to Rose a couple of weeks ago, he really hoped the trial brooms Scorpius and the others were using wouldn't malfunction and cause any accidents.

"Be careful, Scorpius!" Rose suddenly shouted. "There's a crosswind!"

"Yes, Rose, I'm aware of that," Scorpius, who was still all alone at the moment, said loudly. He seemed to be studying the pitch very intently, and didn't turn his head to look at either of them.

And indeed, in these stands that sat at a right angle to the practice pitch, Albus felt a slight breeze right at his face. It wasn't enough, Albus thought, to knock any brooms off course.

"You worry too much, Rose," he told his cousin. "Scorpius is a brilliant flyer. You already know that."

Suddenly, Rose's lips went into a firm line. Albus looked in the same direction and saw Sylvia Thomas looking over her shoulder. She'd said something to Scorpius, who looked over his shoulder as well, as she broke into a trot and approached Albus and Rose in the stands.

"What's your problem with her?" Albus finally asked seriously.

"She makes me uncomfortable," Rose said, as if this explanation should have settled the matter.

Sylvia arrived, planting herself directly next to Albus on the other side of Rose.

"Did you three eat at all?" she asked Albus, frowning. A low rumbling of protest came from Albus's stomach. Sylvia had obviously heard it, because her frown became more pronounced. "Well, that was rather stupid. He's going to try out on an empty stomach, is he?"

"He doesn't seem too bothered by it," remarked Albus.

"Guess who's coming to join us?" Sylvia said, wearing an expression appropriate for one who had just caught a whiff of dung. Striding onto the pitch, tall, burly, and apparently wearing his father's old team jersey (which was a size too large for him for once), was Desmond McLaggen. From a distance, Albus could really appreciate the vast size difference between Desmond and Scorpius as the latter stood in front of and over the former.

"Oh, there he goes again…" snarled Sylvia. "You know, Scorpius is going to lose his patience and really let him have it one of these days. Personally, I hope I'm there to see it. And I hope it's awful."

"What if they both make it?" Albus muttered, frowning. "Scorpius at Seeker and Desmond at Beater? I hope Cole Murphy's smart enough to pick one and not both."

"Then again, you could say the same thing about James," Rose added morosely.

Albus grimaced. As bad as it sounded because they were brothers, he'd almost forgotten about James.

"You're not gonna be able to buy your way onto the team like your old man did," Albus heard Desmond berating Scorpius, who didn't react like his usual meek self. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the pitch, treating Desmond as if he were little more than an irksome distraction. He was saying something – something to which Desmond responded, laughing, "Are you really? You're a fair flyer, I guess, but what happens when a guy my size bounces a Bludger off your skull, huh?"

"Ughh…" Sylvia was sitting very stiffly, her hands clenched into fists upon her knees.

"Oi!" Desmond and Scorpius whirled around. Freddy Weasley appeared, hands linked with his Hufflepuff girlfriend, Laurel. Albus frowned. He wasn't sure that other Houses' students were allowed to watch the tryouts. Freddy was wearing a Quidditch jersey as well. Albus knew for a fact (because Freddy had told him as much) that the jersey had once belonged to his uncle and namesake, and it served as Freddy's good luck charm. "You gonna stop bothering people, or do I have to cram this where the sun don't shine?"

He had stuck out a Beater's bat – the short, thick, wooden club used to hit Bludgers. It was beaten and worn, and Albus knew this item to have once belonged to Freddy's father, George Weasley. Desmond, who was not much shorter than Freddy (and possibly outweighed him as well), didn't appear cowed. There hadn't been much direct animosity – or direct contact, for that matter – between Desmond and Freddy because of their being in different years. However, since Desmond seemed to hate anyone named Weasley as a rule, and as Freddy _also_ happened to be Desmond's competition for the one open Beater spot, Albus wasn't surprised by the hostility.

Thankfully, the Quidditch Captain, Cole Murphy – a tall, long-limbed seventh year with very flat, long, light brown hair like his younger brother – arrived not long after, accompanied by a couple of the other team members.

"The musclehead bloke carrying the box?" Sylvia suddenly commented. "That's Torvald Creese, a seventh year. He looks really dim, but he's apparently a really good Beater."

"I'd bet," Albus murmured. "He looks like he could knock a Bludger halfway to Hogsmeade with one swing."

"Look, the Chasers have come out, too," Sylvia went on. "Gaspar Mitchell – he's a seventh year, everyone just calls him 'Mitch' for short… Demas Oakley, and then…"

"That's Greta!" Rose exclaimed, and indeed Tommy Jordan's female counterpart from the prefects was striding onto the pitch with the others.

"Someone's going to be busy this year," Sylvia remarked, frowning. "It's O.W.L. year, _and _she's a Prefect,_ and_ she's on the Quidditch team!"

"Is she really going to do all three?" Albus uttered, a bit surprised.

"What's the big deal about that?" asked Rose. "My dad did it. Gryffindor won the Cup that year, too."

"With a whole bunch of replacement players," said Albus. While his father's time at Hogwarts hadn't been perfect for obvious reasons, he had largely enjoyed it – except for his fifth year, which had apparently been a rather miserable story from cover to cover. One of the reasons his father had mentioned (and there were many) was the fact that he had been unfairly suspended from playing Quidditch for a large part of that season.

An older Gryffindor student Albus vaguely recognized as having spoken to him during the night of the Welcoming Party had appeared as well…

"Psst!" Albus jumped and looked up and behind him.

"When'd you get here?" asked Albus, who was thoroughly unsurprised by Roxanne and Tommy Jordan having shown up together. Naturally, a lot of not-so-well-informed people (including, unfortunately, Nina and Elizabeth from Albus's year) thought the two were seeing each other. But Albus knew better. Tommy and Roxanne were almost _too_ close for something like that; they were much more like family.

"Where's James?" asked Roxanne. Albus shrugged.

"Haven't seen him in about a week," he said.

"If I came partly to watch him and he doesn't show up," Tommy murmured, "I might go down to Slytherin and kick his arse myself."

"Oh, shut up," Roxanne said, rolling her eyes. The breeze was making her hair even frizzier than normal. "I know you'd settle in a heartbeat for just having an hour to gawk at Greta."

Rose giggled audibly. She'd told Albus that she thought Tommy fancied Greta.

"That's-complete-rubbish-you-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about," said Tommy, much too quickly and in one breath.

"Are you gonna have to kick Laurel out?" asked Rose. Laurel Cross had gone over to the opposite bleachers, presumably so as not to have a run-in with any Gryffindors who might have thought she didn't belong there.

"Please? Please do it," pleaded Roxanne.

"Come off it, Roxie," said Tommy, sounding annoyed. Albus got the feeling that this wasn't the first time Tommy and Roxanne had discussed this matter. "We can't stop other Houses from watching the tryouts if they want. Besides… do you want to throw Freddy off his game?"

"You really think that'll—" Roxanne started, but a withering glance from Tommy silenced her. She deflated. "Yeah, I guess you're right…"

" 'scuse me?" a very small girl with black, bobbed hair approached Tommy in the bleachers. "Did you just say that other Houses can watch the tryouts?"

~~~~~~~~~~  
**James  
**~~~~~~~~~~

The pitch was almost full of players. As he closed the distance and slowed from a sprint to a brisk walk, James cast furtive glances around himself. There was a part of him that expected Neville to show himself, looking stern, and tell him that he wouldn't be allowed to try out. So consumed had his thoughts been with this, and with his conversation with Brynne, it hadn't even occurred to him to be nervous about the tryouts themselves. He saw that a couple of his fellow tryouts (including his cousin Freddy) were already wearing Quidditch jerseys. James, for one, was glad he didn't have a Quidditch jersey. He didn't want to make it seem like he was trying too hard to look the part. His dad probably would have lent him one of his old ones if James had asked, but it had never crossed the boy's mind.

"Freddy," James decided to call. His older cousin, who had been standing casually and tapping his Beater's club against his free hand, turned around. Freddy insisted on becoming a Beater like his dad and uncle, but James was never sure he had the right body type. He took much more after the trim but athletic build of his mother (who had been a Chaser) than the broad-shouldered stockiness of his father. He hated to admit it, but Desmond McLaggen (who gave him an indifferent once-over before turning around again) looked like more of a Beater than Freddy did.

"You made it after all, huh?" Freddy remarked. "How's life in Slytherin treating you?"

"How'd you –" James started.

"Al told Rose, who told Roxanne, who told Tommy, who told me," Freddy explained. James frowned. He certainly wasn't enjoying himself in Slytherin, and he wished Neville would let him go back to his own House. But, as hard as he'd tried to maintain his distrust (stopping short of outright hatred) of Slytherin as a whole, the events of a few hours before had broken something within him.

"All right, you lot," the Captain, Cole Murphy, said loudly. James, who suddenly felt rather small behind the larger bodies of his cousin, Desmond, and another older student he didn't know, tried to sidle into a space between all of the shoulders to see Cole speaking. "Welcome to Gryffindor Quidditch Tryouts. Now – let's first get one thing out of the way. There aren't any Keeper positions open. I'm the starter, of course. If something happens to me, then Creese will take over. So if you came here looking to play Keeper, you'd best either think of another position or come back next year, got it?"

James looked around. There weren't that many of them, and none of them showed the slightest indication of moving (although Desmond did look a bit sour).

"Also, we'd like you to have a basic grasp on the rules," Cole said. "If you don't know the difference between blatching, blagging, and blumphing, that's perfectly fine – I never remember, either. If you don't know the difference between a Quaffle and a Bludger… that's a problem. A potentially fatal problem, actually..."

A couple of sniggers came from the group of tryouts. Cole Murphy gave them all a dark, deadpan look.

"You laugh, but I've seen things. Anyway, team sizes. Eleven to a team now, just like they do it in the pros." Cole went on. "You've got your starting seven and then four reserves. Now, this isn't your dad's Quidditch team, either."

Cole seemed to have meant something by that line, as he paused after it.

"Matches are longer than they've been in the past. Either Seekers are getting worse or Snitches are getting better at eluding them – I'm not sure which," he said. "What that means for us is that we do a lot more substitutions than you might have seen House teams do in the past. That's the use of having eleven full-time members. You better your chances as a reserve if you can play multiple positions – and you obviously increase your chances of being a starter next year if you make reserve this year and work your arse off. I made it on as a reserve Beater my third year. Then I became a starting Beater, and when the last Keeper left, I took his spot. In other words, we take note of those who are willing to play a position other than their favorite, for the good of the team. You lads got all that?"

James quickly took note that, although the team already had Greta Stanford, there weren't any girls trying out this year. Greta, though, looked sourly at Cole.

"Since Seeker and Beater are the open spots, we'll try out those positions first. Then we'll look for a couple of players that can play reserve Chaser."

James looked into the stands on both sides. He immediately recognized Laurel Cross – mostly because she was sitting virtually by herself. Another smaller girl was on that same side as well, with bobbed, black hair. She was peering straight into the crowd of boys – and if James didn't know any better, he'd have thought she was looking straight at him. Since no one but the Quidditch team was wearing House colors, James couldn't tell which House she belonged to. He thought he vaguely recognized her… but that was stupid. He didn't know _any_ girls with that hairstyle.

"Is there anyone else that would like to join Scorpius?" Cole asked loudly. "We need two players for this particular tryout to work well."

James was still busy staring at the mysterious black-haired girl. She put her finger to her lips, and James could have sworn he saw a wink as well.

"Hey, Potter!" Cole called James out by name. "You've got good Seeker pedigree, obviously. Why don't you give it a try?"

James was immediately about to say that he was a Chaser first and foremost, but then he remembered Cole's speech from a few moments ago. He followed Cole to the pitch, where Cole handed both him and his apparent opponent broomsticks. James glanced back over his shoulder, still looking at the small, black-haired girl…

"You're here to intimidate me." James turned toward the speaker again and pulled up short when he saw the piercing, grey eyes of Scorpius Malfoy staring a hole through him. It was an altogether different look than James had seen from him a couple of weeks ago, or indeed ever. "It won't work."

A horrible sinking feeling struck James, almost like a rock had been dropped into his stomach…

~~~~~~~~~~  
**Albus  
**~~~~~~~~~~

"What does he think he's doing?" Albus asked hotly. "He said he'd never try out for Seeker."

"What's wrong with him trying out for Seeker?" asked Roxanne.

"What do you think? Seeker's about his least favorite position," snapped Albus, watching the two boys clamber onto their brooms. "He's just trying to one-up Scorpius and make sure he doesn't make the team."

"I don't know…" Rose reasoned. "It seems like he needed some convincing. I don't even know if he knew Scorpius was going to be at the tryouts. He kept it a secret from everyone except us. Besides…"

Rose smiled.

"James doesn't have a shot," she said.

"What?" Albus replied incredulously. "What do you mean by that? You know how good a flier he is, Rosie…"

"Of course I do," Rose said, now looking almost smug. Then her face turned serious. "I also know there's probably no one else in Hogwarts that wants this more than Scorpius does."

"What's he like, really?" Roxanne asked. "You two seem to be around him a lot. Is he…"

"He's kind, a bit quiet. But if you bring up Quidditch around him, he changes. It's almost frightening," Rose said, shivering despite the heat. "It's almost like… his eyes glaze over, and he goes to this other place…"

Albus simply nodded in agreement. He had seen it enough times to know.

"You sound worried," Sylvia commented.

"Of _course_ I'm worried," Rose said hotly. "I'm hoping James and Scorpius don't kill each other."

"Aw," Roxanne squeaked briskly, leaning down over her younger cousin. "Our little Rosie's growing up. You fancy Scorpius, don't you?"

"Not true," Rose said. "I just… he's a friend, and I sort of owe him a life debt. It's only natural for me to be concerned about his safety."

"Safety?" Sylvia chuckled. "I know Quidditch is a brutal sport, but… I'm not sure anyone's ever died in a Quidditch match. Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic, Rose?"

Albus, sitting between them, cringed. He knew this comment wasn't going to go over well. Rose simply shook her head.

"Scorpius hasn't talked at all about what happened with James a couple of weeks ago… but I can't imagine he wouldn't use this as an opportunity to get some revenge. As for James… well, he obviously hates Scorpius, and no matter what he says otherwise, he feels like he has to uphold the family name. It'd be humiliating for him if a Malfoy showed him up on the Quidditch pitch – no matter what position it was."

Scorpius and James had taken to the air, their forms now little more than blurs to the naked eye. Albus noticed that, on the ground, Cole Murphy and a couple of the other members of the Gryffindor team had begun to make use of strange-looking instruments. It appeared that they were looking through them like telescopes.

"Those are Omnioculars, aren't they?" asked Roxanne. "We could sure use them. I can't see anything."

The two blurs swerved dangerously close to one another, and then one dove, the other following it closely. Rose put her hands to her mouth. One of the blurs appeared to bounce off the ground and back into the air. The other slowed to reveal James, who was coming in much too fast to stop himself. He slammed into the ground horribly. Rose let out a squeak.

"Bloody hell!" Tommy jumped to his feet along with Roxanne. James sat up, grasping his head. Meanwhile, Scorpius walked over toward him, a small golden ball in his hand.

"Was that some sort of decoy move?" Sylvia remarked. "It looks like Scorpius got James to follow him instead of the Snitch."

Rose still had her hand over her mouth, obviously beside herself with concern. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," said Albus confidently. "James is hardheaded."

Rose hit Albus on the shoulder for this joke, but couldn't help sniggering. Sylvia, on the other hand, burst into unrestrained laughter. Albus looked at her, bewildered.

"It wasn't that funny, was it…?"

The tryouts were rather uneventful after that. To their great chagrin, Desmond McLaggen seemed to show quite the aptitude for Beater. It was as Scorpius has said. If anything, Desmond's nasty demeanor proved helpful for a position whose role it was to hit black attack balls at other people. That wasn't to say that Freddy Weasley did badly, either. He was quite splendid, and moved a bit more quickly and fluidly than Desmond. Clearly, there was something to be said for three years' more experience on a broomstick.

The tryouts for reserve Chaser followed not long after that. Nearly everyone that had shown up participated, although Desmond seemed disinterested and Freddy simply didn't have a knack for holding onto a Quaffle. After the tryouts were over, Albus and the others ran into James eating lunch in the Great Hall. He didn't speak much to them, which had been a disappointment to Albus. As much as he'd feared being sorted into Slytherin House, he was a bit curious about what things would have been like for him there.

Saturday bled over into Sunday, and then into Monday after that. Once again, this particular evening, awful weather kept the students inside after classes had ended.

"It feels like it's been raining nonstop all month," Rose groused as she and her three other first year friends sat around a small table, displaced from the couch by a sixth year and his girlfriend. "It's too loud in here – I can't get anything done."

"Oh, what's the point?" Sylvia groaned. Looking at Albus, she suggested, "Maybe we should just go to the library."

"But we have to wear our school robes in the library," Rose, who was dressed in a red cardigan her mother had recently sent her as congratulations for being sorted into Gryffindor, said. "Besides…"

"Cole's coming with the team roster this evening," Scorpius, who hadn't said much all day, explained.

Albus tried to peek over Scorpius's head without seeming too obvious.

"No sign of him?" Rose asked. Albus shook his head.

"No," he replied.

"Wouldn't that be funny if he made it – and didn't know or something because he was stuck in Slytherin House?" Sylvia commented.

Albus frowned. "It's been almost three weeks now. Is Neville gonna make James stay down there until the end of the term?"

"I don't know," Rose, who had shown more irritation over James's actions than Scorpius did, replied. "But if he does, James doesn't have any right to complain. Frankly, he's lucky he wasn't expelled…"

"Expelled?" Albus frowned.

"Bit over the top, don't you think?" asked Sylvia. Albus grimaced. Rose turned to Sylvia, sparks shooting from her eyes.

"No, I _don't_ think."

Albus tried to defuse the situation. "You do realize that if you could be expelled for attacking another student with magic, _none_ of our parents would have made it through school?"

He looked around at the table. His own parents, Harry and Ginny, as well as Rose's parents, Ron and Hermione, had all done their fair share of hexing other students during their school years. To say nothing of Scorpius's father…

Scorpius, to Albus's great surprise, turned to Rose and spoke. "Your mum punched my dad in the face once."

Rose looked at Scorpius and frowned. Sylvia put her hand over her mouth, obviously trying to hide an amused grin.

"Well, it's true," Scorpius said. With a wry half-smile, he added, "He says he thoroughly deserved it, if it makes you feel any better."

"So you have a good relationship with your father?" Rose, who evidently couldn't contain her curiosity, asked.

"I would say so," Scorpius answered, a bit bewildered by the question.

"I mean…" Rose seemed to realize she'd brought up an awkward topic. "Your family's been in Slytherin for centuries, right? What'd your dad say?"

"He said he wasn't surprised, actually," Scorpius remarked. Another wry half-smile crossed his lips. "My mum was disappointed, I bet… she was kind of hoping I'd be in Slytherin. You know… to show everyone that you could be a Slytherin without being a Dark magic-loving, Muggle-born-hating lunatic."

Rose laughed. Albus smirked as well. Then something occurred to him.

Just as he was about to vocalize his theory about the reason he'd thought Neville was keeping James in Slytherin Dungeon for so long, the door to the Gryffindor common room swung open. More than a few individuals looked up from their books, conversations, and significant others as Cole Murphy strode into the common room, wearing full Quidditch garb and carrying a scroll.

"Alright, you lot, don't crowd! Give him some space!" Tommy's voice carried across the common room as Albus watched Cole walk with purpose toward the Gryffindor bulletin board. Pulling out a wand, he tossed the scroll into the air in front of him.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The scroll unfurled as it lighted against the cork bulletin board and lay flat over what looked to be a flyer for the Gobstones Club. A rush of students all congregated in that direction, giving Cole just enough time to get out of the way. Cole nearly walked into his younger brother and another boy. He tapped the boys on the shoulders and walked right between them. Albus saw a shock of messy, dark hair.

"That's James!" he exclaimed. "When did he get here?"

Albus thought briefly of calling out to his brother, but the droning murmur around the bulletin board had grown so loud there would be no hope of James hearing him. The four first years sat silently at the table for a moment. Albus turned around to Scorpius, who had gone a strange, purple color.

"Scorpius –" Rose started. The boy shook his head.

"I can't," he murmured. "Could – could one of you guys…?"

Rose jumped to her feet. "I'll do it."

And she was off, into the clump of Gryffindor students. The others watched for several tense moments. A tan-skinned fellow had made his way closest to the bulletin board. Next came a whoop so loud that it seemed to echo. A fist shot out of the crowd and several of the students backed away.

"Hey, Tommy!" Freddy Weasley had come bolting out of the crowd and straight to the Gryffindor Prefect, who eyed him with a look of mixed confusion and amusement. Freddy poked Tommy directly in the Prefect's badge and shouted, "_You owe me ten Galleons!_ Starting Beater, outright!"

"I never bet you couldn't do it," Tommy said briskly. Roxanne was standing next to him.

"You're just lucky the open spot _was_ Beater," she said, trying to sound smug but failing to hide a smile. "I heard your Chaser tryout was appalling."

"Oh, sod off, Roxie," Freddy said loudly. "I only stayed to try Chaser for kicks and giggles."

Desmond came out of the crowd next, livid and snorting like a bull that had just seen red. He turned around dumbly in the middle of the common room for a moment, until he found Freddy, Roxanne, and Tommy. If looks could kill, Desmond would have been shooting _Avada Kedavra_ rapid-fire from both eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," Freddy said, half-warningly. "You should be happy. You made reserve, after all."

"Some things never change, I guess," Desmond said. "The Weasleys still get special treatment, I see."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe Cole heard my name and saw the potential," Freddy said. Puffing out his chest, he raised his voice to a shout and yelled, "Maybe there's still something to be said for the Weasleys being _the greatest Quidditch clan in Gryffindor's thousand-year history!_"

Freddy cocked his head and a smile crossed his face.

"Or maybe I just outflew you today," he finished at normal speaking volume, turning on his heel and exiting, probably (Albus guessed) to find Laurel Cross and give her the news.

"Your cousin had better mind himself," Sylvia commented, a frown creasing her lips. "I wouldn't put it past McLaggen to try and injure him just so he can take the spot."

Albus stayed silent, but he agreed. He was going to make it a point to watch Desmond's behavior from now on. He saw both Scorpius and Sylvia turn their heads in the same direction. Rose was coming toward them, her eyes already red and shining. Scorpius stood up. As pale as he was already, it didn't take much doing, but there was practically no color left on his face. She and Scorpius stared at each other for several silent seconds.

"Well…?" Sylvia uttered impatiently. Rose didn't seem to trust herself to speak. She swallowed very hard and gave a tiny but unmistakable nod.

Scorpius grabbed onto the table, looking a bit weak-kneed. "I… got on?"

At this point Rose could not contain herself any longer and threw her arms around Scorpius, who seemed almost as shocked by this as he'd been by Rose's announcement.

"First line Seeker," she said, clasping her hands together. "You're going to be brilliant."

"Blimey," Scorpius said breathlessly, sinking into his seat.

"Why so surprised?" asked Sylvia. "I mean, you were obviously the best flyer out there."

"Mm-hmm," Rose uttered, nodding in agreement. Turning vaguely in Albus's direction, she asked, "Guess who else made it?"

~~~~~~~~~~  
**James  
**~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm actually a bit glad you overslept the tryouts, Murph," James said to his best friend as the two found their way out of the crowd of students and back through the common room. "I went for Seeker first. It didn't end well."

"Apparently Cole thought differently," Murphy said. "Differently enough that he'd consider using you at Seeker if Scorpius got hurt."

"Well, let's hope that doesn't happen," James said, frowning.

"What happened?" asked Murphy.

"Well, more or less, Scorpius Malfoy's a bloody prodigy on a broomstick," James said with sort of an irritated resignation. "Cole set it up like a normal Quidditch match – minus the hoops, Bludgers, Beaters, Keeper, or Chasers – oh, and there were no hecklers, either."

"So it was just you, Malfoy, and the Snitch?"

"That's the long and short of it," James said. "I knew I couldn't find the Snitch as well, so I tried to mark him instead. Thought I'd make my move when the time was right. Only, he feinted me."

"Fainted?" repeated Murphy. "He knocked you out?"

"Bloody close," James answered, grimacing. "He faked seeing the Snitch close to the ground so I'd follow him, then he pulled up at the last second. He got the Snitch, and I got a face full of dirt."

"Brutal," said Murphy, creasing his brow in a frown. "But Chaser must have gone well."

"Only because no one else there had a knack for it except that third year bloke. Rodney, I think his name was…? He got on, too."

"It's a start," Murphy said. "Mitch and Oakley are in my brother's year, so they're both graduating. And there's no guarantee that Greta won't find Quidditch and being a Prefect too much for her. You could be first line Chaser by this time next season if you do well enough."

"I sure hope so," James said.

"But what about the whole Seeker bit?" Murphy asked. "What if Malfoy gets hurt? He's not the biggest guy around. Looks like one good Bludger would crack him in two."

"Well, I'll just have to tell Freddy to work his arse off and make sure Malfoy doesn't get hurt," said James darkly. Murphy gave him a look of astonishment.

"Did I just hear you say you're hoping Malfoy stays in one piece?" he asked. "Who are you, and what have you done with the real James Potter?"

James sighed heavily. "It's been… an interesting weekend. I actually still haven't gone to dinner."

"Ah." Murphy frowned. "Guess I'll see you in class tomorrow? Unless you're planning on skiving off?"

"Nope," James chuckled. "My mum would kill me."

And with a wave, he stepped through the portrait. He had to resist the urge to sprint all the way down to the Great Hall – an urge made easier to suppress by the fact that he had to navigate the ever-changing set of staircases on the way. He traversed them carefully, keeping his wits about him. He had the wherewithal to jump the third step from the bottom of a particular flight. He was especially careful about that one, as he'd failed to remember once during his first year and had nearly broken his ankle as a result.

By the time he'd found his way to the Great Hall, he was more than ready to eat. He strode into the Hall, looking around for a particular group. He nearly walked into another Gryffindor in the process.

"James?" James tried to appear interested in the conversation of his fellow second year and roommate, Cecil Brookstanton, but he glanced over the shorter, brown-haired boy's shoulders every chance he got. "Blimey, it _is_ you! You're alive! Thought they would've fed you to their pet snake by now."

"Pet snake?" repeated James, nonplussed.

"Yeah, doesn't Slytherin House have a giant serpent somewhere in the castle?" Cecil asked. James's jaw fell open for a moment.

"Uh, no," James murmured. "I haven't even seen any _normal_-sized snakes."

James watched Cecil walk by him without any further preamble. "…What?"

He looked up toward the staff table to see if any of them were having lunch. Dark-skinned Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy professor, seemed to be talking with a rather old, dotty-looking witch with huge glasses. A couple of chairs away, not appearing interested in the conversation of the two witches, was Neville Longbottom. The euphoria of making the Quidditch team had driven his irritation at Neville from his mind for a while. Now, though, with two or more practices a week on top of all of his classes, he'd have to grit his teeth at some point and ask Neville if he could start sleeping in his own dormitory again…

"Oi!" a shout came from one of the four tables. "Potter, over here!"

A group of three students were eating together at one of the outside tables. James ran over to join them. He sat down to near silence, looking at the three first years, and still feeling like he stuck out a bit with his crimson-and-gold tie.

"Well…?" one of the boys asked. The girl was sitting directly opposite him. If her overly protuberant blue eyes weren't bad enough, she was leaning inward. James's face felt hot for a moment.

"Reserve Chaser and Seeker," he finally said.

The girl gave a squeal and clapped her hands.

"Well done," the boy beside him said.

"Good job, Potter," the one sitting next to the girl on the opposite side of the table echoed. The girl looked at him.

"D'you always have to do that, Bletch?" she asked. "You, too, Tellius. It's always 'Potter this' and 'Potter that.'"

James had tried something new on the Sunday after Quidditch tryouts. Barred from going back to his own common room (if for no other reason than the password had changed), he had decided to spend his time with a few of the Slytherin first years.

"Blimey, Brynne," Tellius Nott groaned. When the boys had made ready to go out onto the grounds for the afternoon, Brynne had caught up to and followed them – somewhat to Tellius's chagrin. "We were only trying to be polite."

"Save politeness for strangers," Brynne said simply. "Not for new friends… right, James?"

A strange feeling welled up in James as Brynne caught his gaze – somehow it was a mix of warmth and nervousness. "Your disguise was awful, by the way."

"Nobody knew it was me but you," Brynne said. "That's just the way I wanted it."

"Anyway," Tellius Nott said. "You're not the only one with some news."

"Yep. I made first line Chaser. Maybe we'll meet on the field this year," auburn-haired Phillip Bletchley said, allowing himself a smile. "Of course, if that happens, don't expect any mercy. I've gotta uphold the House and family pride, you know."

"Same here," said James, smirking. Moments later, he saw everyone look up. He fell into shadow.

"Mr. Potter." James looked straight up. A familiar face looked down at him, and then at the three Slytherin first years. "You lot don't mind if I borrow him for a moment, do you?"

The three first years shook their heads in unison. James stood up and followed Neville, a slight sense of dread bubbling in his stomach… or maybe that was just the fact that he _still_ hadn't eaten yet. Neville led him away from the Slytherins, until he was well out of earshot. He stopped.

"I heard you made the Quidditch team. Congratulations. I'm sure your parents will be proud of you… for a number of reasons."

James frowned. "Did you really have to have Brynne Walter make up a story about her family just to convince me that Slytherins weren't all bad?"

"Come, James, you know I'm not nearly that clever," Neville chuckled. "Do you find Miss Walter interesting at all?"

"I, uh… guess that'd be the word for it, yeah," James said.

"I thought she'd be a potential problem child when I saw her background," said Neville. "Someone with so much tragedy in their early life can grow up carrying a lot of anger at the world. So far, though, that hasn't proven to be true, has it?"

"She's… a bit odd," James said, looking back at the table where she, Phillip Bletchley, and Tellius were all looking vaguely in his direction, probably wondering about the contents of his and Neville's conversation. "But very kind."

"She reminds me a bit of someone…" Neville mused. "An old friend of mine… well, I probably shouldn't say 'old' friend. It's just that we haven't seen each other in a while. In any case, what I mean is, I never meant to show you that there were decent people in Slytherin. I meant to give them the chance to show you themselves. Can I tell you something?"

He had lowered his voice to a near-whisper. James nodded.

"Your father and the school – and if you were to ask him now, I'm sure he'd agree with me – made a terrible error the night Voldemort and his forces attacked Hogwarts," Neville said. "Madam McGonagall made a hasty decision by sending away the entire House instead of taking the time to figure out who could be trusted."

"Well," James said, "it'd be a bit hard to figure out which Slytherins were alright and which ones weren't with Voldemort bearing down on you and about an hour to get ready, right?"

"Therein lies the problem, James," sighed Neville. "That sort of work must be done over time. When the moment comes, it is already too late. Seven years your father and I were here, and seven years went by without either of us completely trusting a member of Slytherin House. Granted, some of them gave us very good reason – but there were plenty more that gave us no better cause to dislike them than their family names or the colors on their necktie."

An expression of bitterness and regret crossed his face. This was clearly something that had been eating at Neville Longbottom for years.

"We went into war against the darkest wizard of our age with three Houses of Hogwarts when there should have been four. We were lucky for the handful of them that came back. They probably had every right to abandon us for our prejudice – or worse. I'm sure some of them had family or friends in the Death Eaters' ranks."

"But it's like you said, isn't it?" asked James. "The war's over."

Neville shook his head. "Over? Against Voldemort, yes. But against his kind? No. Maybe at a peace until the next threat rises, but never over. At least, I don't believe so."

James frowned. "Is something going on now?"

Neville shook his head again. "Maybe… maybe not. But we can't wait until then. Hogwarts needs to be united and stay united, so if_… when… _there's another Voldemort or someone similar, we can face that threat together."

"And… can I ask you… why me? I mean… if you feel this strongly about it, you can tell the students. Or tell Professor Flitwick to tell them…"

"He already does, of course," said Neville. "I'm impressing the lesson upon _you_ because the time may come where I may no longer be able to do it."

James frowned at this. "You shouldn't talk that way."

"What I mean by that," Neville explained, "is that they may need to hear it from a student – an equal."

James frowned even more. "And you think, because I'm a Potter, that makes me some kind of leader?"

"Of course not," laughed Neville, as if James had told quite the funny joke. "But I won't conveniently ignore the fact that your name has some weight these days. Neither should you. Do try to use that influence for the right things, won't you?"

He patted James's shoulder and started out of the Great Hall. He stopped for a moment.

"Your belongings will be waiting for you in your room."

James watched Neville walk off. He felt a mix of emotions. First, he was relieved – after all, he could go back to his own room now. He was also amused as he imagined Murphy's face when he entered the second year boys' dormitory to find all of James's things there again. He was also a bit disappointed – just as he'd started to make friends, he was now not going to be seeing as much of them. More than all of that, though, he was concerned; a Seer Professor Neville Longbottom was not. Still, though, James felt like fighting the magnitude of battle Neville had fought, and surviving, had given the Professor a sixth sense about impending conflict.

In other words, Neville Longbottom clearly knew something the rest of Hogwarts didn't.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Birds and Beatings**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Sorry I haven't written in a while. It's been mad around here. Everybody's buzzing about the Halloween feast, wondering what the Professors are putting together for us this year. I heard a really scary rumor that someone let a mountain troll into the school once for Halloween, years ago. Is that true?_

_Classes here are going along great. We're learning all sorts of new spells in Charms class. I also finally managed to Transfigure a needle into a toothpick last week. I think so, anyway. I just turned in a foot-and-a-half essay Professor Ambrose set us on plant root poisons and their antidotes, and I think I did pretty well on it. Maybe well enough to earn an O, and Professor Ambrose doesn't give those out easy. The only class that's not going so well is Defence. Maybe it sounds dumb, but Professor Malcolm just doesn't seem to like me all that much. I try to just keep my mouth shut and stick to my work, but he's very rude sometimes toward me and the other Gryffindors. But he knows his stuff, definitely. It almost makes me wonder what he's doing teaching. He could probably be an Auror or something if he really wanted._

_Rowan Lester and Stephan Vaisey, my two 'friends' I told you about last month, don't really talk to me anymore. They're together all the time, but Rowan's terrified of girls, and Vaisey doesn't much like Scorpius Malfoy. Since I mainly hang around with Scorpius Malfoy and two girls, there you have it. Rosie's doing just fine, by the way. She's near the top in all of our classes._

_I'm not seeing a whole lot of James lately. He's been really busy. He and the team have had long practices about twice a week. He doesn't even eat with me or Rose or any of us, really, except for Freddy. He's on the team, too, if Uncle George hasn't told you all. The first match is this weekend, so I expect he's just getting ready._

_Hope you're well. Give Lily a big hug for me. And say hello to Kreacher, too, I guess._

_Love,  
Al_

_P.S. Rosie says hi._

Albus furled his parchment letter into a neat little roll and tied it to the leg of one of the school's many barn owls, who looked down at him with questioning, yellow eyes.

"Potter House, Ottery St. Catchpole, please," he said clearly, a part of him still wondering whether the bird would understand him. The owl gave a hoot and nodded before taking flight out of a nearby window and into the yellowing October dusk. A breeze blew into the Owlery. Albus heard Rose shiver beside him.

"It's getting cold out here," she murmured. "We should probably head back down."

"Poor Scorpius is probably half-frozen to his broom right now," remarked Albus with a laugh.

"I don't think he minds much, though," Rose reasoned.

With the first game of the Quidditch season fast approaching, Scorpius had become something of a topic of conversation in the Gryffindor common room. Albus and Rose, of course, had seen him in flying lessons and tryouts and weren't surprised in the least bit. It turned out that Scorpius was the first Gryffindor to start at Seeker in his first year since Harry Potter himself – a margin of over a quarter-century. Albus, truth be told, was extremely relieved.

"You know…" Rose said, and she sounded a bit nervous. "A lot of people think Scorpius is even better as a first year than Uncle Harry was."

She whispered, as if she'd been afraid to say this. Albus, however, was unperturbed; he shrugged his shoulders. "That'd follow, wouldn't it? I mean, Dad says it himself. For the first year, he was just raw talent and instinct. He didn't know a ruddy thing about Quidditch until the Captain explained it to him. Scorpius, though… he eats, sleeps, and _breathes_ Quidditch. He's almost…"

"…Obsessed, I know," Rose said, frowning. "He's always the first to get to practice and the last to leave. He… asks me for help with his work a lot of times."

"Really?" asked Albus, who was surprised by this. "He seems to be getting along alright."

"I don't think he concentrates on the finer points of our classes," she said.

"His Defence grade's alright," Albus argued. "And that's with Malcolm teaching us."

Rose's frown became more pronounced. "You haven't bought into the bile James is spewing about Professor Malcolm, have you? He seems perfectly decent to me."

"Well, he's not so obviously rude to the girls, is he?" Albus asked, looking at her suspiciously. Muttering to himself, he added, "or to anyone whose name isn't Potter."

"Well… maybe he's still alright," said Rose, sounding flustered. "I mean, our parents ended up being completely wrong about Severus Snape – wrong enough so _you're_ named after him."

"I know," said Albus impatiently, "and I wish Dad hadn't done that. I know what he meant to do… well, actually, I don't. Uncle Ron said he doesn't care much that Snape was on the right side after all. He was still an unpleasant —"

Albus stopped abruptly. Rose looked at him. "Still an unpleasant what?"

Albus frowned, nodding his head meaningfully.

"Oh, honestly, Al," Rose groaned, exasperated. "I'm not five years old. And this is my _father_ we're talking about. Whatever he had to say, I'm sure I've heard it before."

Albus sighed. "Okay, then…"

And he leaned over and finished the sentence in Rose's ear. She giggled and went a bit pink.

"Yep, that sounds like him, alright," she laughed.

"I mean… I'm all for honoring the people my dad respected most in his life," Albus said, "but… he could have at least tried to be a bit more creative with the names. I don't much like being named after dead people."

"But Albus Dumbledore was a genius," Rose contended. "Well… both of them were, really…"

"I just…" Albus shook his head. "I don't understand. I mean… two Headmasters of Hogwarts is one thing… but why _those two_? As if being Harry Potter's son wasn't enough pressure to be going on with…"

"I think people are more than willing to accept the fact that _you're _not Harry Potter," said Rose, her voice a bit clipped. Albus caught onto the change in tone almost immediately. "Your father left a good legacy to follow. You should be thankful."

Albus didn't appreciate being scolded in this manner – especially since he was a few months older than Rose.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, now growing irritable.

"It's a lot harder," she replied, "I think… when your parents don't have a good legacy. Then you have to try so hard to convince people that you're not them."

She huffed. Albus found this bit of 'advice' thoroughly unhelpful.

"Everything's about Scorpius with you, is it?" he asked hotly.

"I never said anything about Scorpius," Rose answered in the same clipped tone.

Albus grumbled, giving up on the conversation entirely.

"I wonder what Sylvia's off doing…?" he muttered to himself.

"Truth be told, we probably don't want to know," said Rose, rolling her eyes.

"Really, Rose… what did she do to you?" Albus groaned. "I mean… yeah, I remember she laughed at you when you fell getting into the boats back at the start of term, but I thought we were all over that."

Rose responded with a huffy sort of sigh. "You're so thick, Al. You're almost as bad as James."

"Wh-what?" the boy stammered. "What do you mean, thick?"

"You know she only cares anything about you because your name's Potter," Rose said smugly.

"Our parents knew each other," said Albus, growing irritated again. "Our dads all lived together for most of _six years_. How's it any different from, say… the fact that Freddy and Roxanne hang around with Tommy?"

"Well, it's mostly Freddy and Tommy now. Roxanne can't deal with Freddy's girlfriend," Rose said briskly. "Anyways… Uncle George and Tommy's dad have stayed in contact all these years, right? When was the last time Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny heard from Dean Thomas? If they were such close friends, you shouldn't have been meeting Sylvia for the first time."

"Sylvia said her dad didn't want to… you know what, why don't you ask her?" asked Albus. "You two sleep in the same room…"

Albus rethought this for a moment.

"On second thought, you might want to talk to her in the Great Hall or something," he muttered darkly. "You gotta be careful what you say around Nina and Liz…"

"Oh, those two…." Rose sighed.

"Erm… are you friends with any of the girls in our year?" Albus asked as they finally ascended Gryffindor Tower.

"I think the lot of them are daft, to be honest," Rose said. "Nina and Elizabeth are both gossiping busybodies, and Sylvia…"

"What's wrong with Sylvia?" Albus asked. "You still haven't given me an answer."

"I'm just a bit tired of her acting like I don't exist," said Rose. "Especially when we're all together."

As much as Albus hated to admit it, he did get the sense when the four of them were in a group that Sylvia was going out of her way to dodge any direct conversation with Rose.

"You think maybe there's a slight chance she knows you don't like her much?" questioned Albus seriously.

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" Rose suddenly raised her voice.

"Side?" Albus repeated incredulously. "We have 'sides' now? I thought we were all friends."

"Well, then, you're an idiot," Rose said fiercely as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "_Lux astria!_"

"Oh, my, someone's in a mood today, hmm?" the Fat Lady intoned as her portrait pulled away from the wall, revealing the hole that led to the Gryffindor common room. She climbed halfway inside and then whirled around. Albus was surprised and dismayed to see that her eyes were shining with tears.

"_They_ might be your friends, but _I'm_ _your family_!" she said. "I thought that meant something, Al. I really did."

And she climbed into the hole. But she had struck a nerve – and the normally reserved Albus was determined not to let her have the last word.

"You're a filthy hypocrite, you know that?!" he leapt into the common room after her, shouting. People's heads were turning, but he didn't care. "All you ever talk about now is classes or Scorpius, Scorpius or classes. You don't hear _me_ accusing _you_ of not caring!"

"That's not anybody else's business!" she snapped. "I trust you not to go telling everyone in Hogwarts all the things I say to you!"

"No, you don't," Albus countered. "Because, if you did, I wouldn't have to figure them out myself! You never told me why you're such a _snob_ to Sylvia and the other girls, but I _know why_! You're scared of being _rejected_!"

He'd regretted the words as soon as they'd come out. He hadn't had a row this serious with Rose in years, and he wondered why he'd gotten so angry in the first place. But the damage had been done, and it was evident on Rose's reddening face. To make matters worse, the vast majority of the common room was silent – all eyes on the two cousins as they put on their shouting match.

"Albus Potter," Rose said. She hadn't yelled, and Albus found himself sincerely wishing she had, for the cracked whisper that issued forth from her made him feel a thousand times worse. "You… you are such a—"

Then she made use of the word her father had once used to describe Severus Snape – causing a few gasps and giggles in the process. She turned on her heel, crying, and ran full-tilt up the stairs to the girl's dormitories.

"Don't feel too bad, Potter," a voice said through the silence. "After all…"

Albus didn't turn around. He really didn't feel like dealing with McLaggen at the moment. As the speaker came to Albus's front and forced his presence upon him, Albus was surprised to find golden blond hair hanging in a very neat ponytail. "Anyone who fancies a Malfoy deserves such treatment."

"Rose doesn't fancy Scorpius," Albus answered through grit teeth. He did not know why he had answered so – after all, he was no longer sure himself. "And even if she did, it's none of yours."

"You want to know what I think, Potter?" Vaisey was still being maddeningly polite. "About this whole Scorpius-as-Seeker business?"

Albus, who was sure this could not possibly be anything good, said, "You're probably going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

"Desmond and I have a theory," Vaisey said. Albus was hating the sound of this already. "You know the old saying, 'like father, like son'? Well, Desmond suggested that a few Galleons – or perhaps a few hundred – changed hands before the tryouts."

"That's rubbish," Albus answered as calmly as one could. Vaisey could not have caught him at a worse possible time. "Desmond's just got his bloomers in a twist because Scorpius is first line and he's on the bench."

"In fact…" Vaisey went on, ignoring Albus's argument. "We both agreed it was… a bit _odd_ that Sean Polkiss suddenly ends up in St. Mungo's days before Scorpius Malfoy is set to board the train to Hogwarts. Add that to the fact that Draco Malfoy is still quite rich and almost never seen in public these days… you're not that thick, Potter. You must know what I'm getting at."

Albus couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Shove off, Vaisey," he simply said. "I've been around Scorpius. I trust him. That's good enough for me."

"You 'trust' Malfoy, hm?" Vaisey said savagely, his eyes now glittering. "My grandfather trusted a Malfoy once. Why don't you ask him how that turned out, hm? Oh, that's right, I forgot – the Malfoy he trusted _killed him!_"

Albus frowned. Vaisey's quarrel with the entire Malfoy family, while still stupid, in Albus's opinion, suddenly had a bit more reason to it.

"I'm sorry about that," Albus said seriously. "But it really isn't Scorpius's or my prob—"

Albus went reeling to the ground. Screams erupted in the common room; before Albus knew that the first blow had struck, Vaisey was hitting him again – and again – and again. Vaisey hadn't even bothered with his wand, and Albus hadn't had time to go for his own. This was no duel; this was a beating, administered in the way of Muggles, and with the same brutish savagery. It was all poor Albus could do to cover his head and not get his face bloodied.

"Come on, Stephan, stop it!" called a small voice.

"Piss off, Rowan!" Vaisey snarled.

"All right, all right, _all right!_" another voice joined the fray.

Albus felt Vaisey's weight leave him and finally uncovered his head to see what was going on. Tommy Jordan had physically pulled Vaisey – whose face was now as red as his hair was blond – off Albus.

"Lucius Malfoy struck him down right in front of my mother's eyes," Vaisey spat. "She was just a little girl! She never got over it! _NEVER! _The Ministry could have killed him just like he killed my grandfather! And it's not Scorpius's or your _problem_?! _Damn you!_ Scorpius Malfoy shouldn't even exist! Your father should have destroyed the _lot _of them, just like he destroyed Voldemort!"

Tommy began to lead (or more like drag) Vaisey away, but the boy was still screaming.

"Remember this! Remember, when Scorpius Malfoy and the rest of his lot are knocking down _your_ door and cursing you and _your_ families! Remember the Ministry let the Malfoys live!"

Albus sat up, trying to decide whether to favor his swollen eye or his battered arms.

Students began to talk around Albus.

"Well, that's the last we'll be seeing of _him_. Even if Longbottom doesn't expel him right off, Harry Potter will be here soon enough to see after his son, and then Vaisey'll be in for a world of hurt."

"I know the Malfoys are – _were – _bad news, but does he really hate them that much?"

"That was completely barbaric. I'd have just shot a good hex or two and been done with it."

Albus stood up, feeling the vague warmth of dozens of eyes trained upon him. He was in the spotlight for all of the wrong reasons, and now he wanted nothing more than to be alone. In a semi-haze, he walked vaguely toward the common room's exit.

**James**

James hadn't realized it nearly as much when he'd been in the air, but he was so drenched with sweat, it was as if he'd jumped into the Black Lake with his Quidditch robes still on. With the first match quickly approaching, Cole Murphy had started to drive the team harder and later. James didn't mind much, honestly – Quidditch practices were a perfect opportunity for him to put off his homework from Professor Malcolm. He hated doing Malcolm's essays – especially since, no matter how much effort he seemed to put into them, he would always end up with 'A's and comments from Malcolm to the effect of something being missing. He'd resisted the temptation to cross out 'Potter' on his essays and replace it with another name, then take the essay up to Malcolm and ask him if it was any better in that state. He had to talk to Neville at some point, if he was ever _not_ practicing or doing homework. Surely the way Malcolm seemed to have it in for him was some sort of breach of a Professor's code or something. He preferred not to think about it, really. He'd compare class notes with Murphy as usual when he got back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Hey, Potter," a girl's voice called. James looked up and over his shoulder (grimacing as he felt a twinge of soreness around _everything_). Greta Stanford, his fellow Chaser and the fifth-year Prefect, was now standing next to him, wearing a tired smile. "Murph and I were just talking about how well your practice went. Good to know we have someone to count on if something happens to the first line, right?"

First off, James still had to get used to people (Oakley and Mitch included) calling Cole Murphy "Murph" – a nickname James himself always used for Cole's younger brother, Rick. Second, he was starting to tire of the way Greta in particular coddled him. He was already short on experience – not to mention, compared to the other Chasers, just plain short. It didn't help matters that most of the team all talked to him like he was their little brother. After all, he usually flew every bit as well as Asher Rodney, the other reserve who mainly played Chaser – if not a bit better.

James felt awkward on this team. He had no one on the Quidditch team he could call a friend – except for Freddy, but Freddy was a Beater. Although (he thought as he sniggered darkly to himself), being on friendly terms with a Beater _did_ tend to cut down on the number of Bludgers coming at your skull during any given Quidditch match. He wasn't particularly close with any of the other Chasers, though. They were all so much older. And he hadn't bothered to figure out whether Scorpius had yet forgiven him for their fight earlier in the term. Then again, Scorpius didn't say much at all during Quidditch practice. Normally, James would have thought that Scorpius wasn't all there. Now, though, the general thought was that he was 'there' so completely that anything else not Quidditch-related was a distraction, and not worth his time. Personally, James thought he should have been trying to do a better job at some team unity.

Then again, if his focus helped him to catch the Snitch before the other team's Seeker, the Gryffindors would keep winning matches – 'team unity' or no.

The sky was now dark blue with the approaching night, and the lights had gone on in the castle. As he and the other players entered from the courtyard, James thought he'd caught a glimpse of a dark-haired boy sitting alone on a bench in the breezeway.

"Hey –" someone grunted as they bumped him from behind. Cole Murphy stood over him, looking weary. "C'mon, kid, move it or lose it."

James let himself be shunted forward in the small group. Meanwhile, Scorpius Malfoy brought up the rear, his steps halting and furtive…

**Albus**

Albus tried to ignore the murmur of the group going by him. He didn't even bother opening his eyes to see who they were. Maybe it was someone he knew. If so, he didn't feel like talking. He shivered as a chilly breeze blew through the covered walkway. The high screech of approaching dusk, of the nocturnal creatures in the nearby Dark Forest awakening, filled his ears.

"Oi… Albus," a familiar voice cut through the sounds of nature. "Albus?"

He felt his shoulder shaken.

"What!?" Albus snarled, opening his eyes to see… "…Scorpius?"

His blond hair was no longer slicked back, but wildly scattered around his head. He looked a bit red-cheeked as well, as if he'd been flying headlong into wind for the last several hours. To boot, he was still holding a broomstick in one hand.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked. Albus shook his head and didn't answer. What was he supposed to say?

Albus stayed silent for a moment. "Scorpius, how much do you know about your grandfather?"

Scorpius frowned. "Enough. I know that he wasn't the most pleasant of human beings to be around. He's still a bit backwards. 'Course, he'd call himself 'conservative', but that's being too polite…"

Albus didn't know if this had been the answer he was looking for, but it was enough for him to keep talking. "Does he still believe in… you know…"

"He still doesn't trust Muggle-borns much," Scorpius admitted. "I suppose he's set in his ways now as far as that goes. But, he does admit now that Voldemort's plan was no good. Or, as he says it, it 'may have been a bit extreme.'"

Scorpius punctuated his quotation with a roll of his eyes.

"Do you know of him murdering anyone?" Albus asked.

Scorpius grimaced. "Grandfather did many things he and the rest of us aren't proud of."

Albus didn't speak for a moment. Why was he troubling Scorpius with this? It didn't have anything to do with him. Hadn't that been the whole point?

"Where's Rose?" Scorpius asked. "I don't think I've ever seen you two separated."

He added the second sentence as something of an afterthought. Albus shook his head again.

"Maybe that's not such a good thing," he said heavily. "I can't be joined at the hip to my cousin forever."

Scorpius frowned. "Did you have a row with her or something?"

Albus grimaced painfully.

"You did, didn't you?"

"I thought she was being stupid about Sylvia…"

"What about me?" a girl's voice jumped into the conversation.

"Speak of the devil, and she shall appear," mused Scorpius under his breath. Albus looked up. Sylvia was standing a few paces down the breezeway, hands on her hips.

"Well, that's not very nice," she groused, walking toward them.

"It's a figure of speech," sighed Scorpius impatiently.

"Well, it's not a very nice figure of speech," she said snippily. "What are you two doing out here? You know Longbottom'll have our heads if we're caught out after—Merlin's beard, Al! What happened to your eye?"

Albus stared up at Sylvia. Something in his facial expression must have caught her eye, because her expression changed as well.

"It was McLaggen, wasn't it?"

Albus shook his head.

"Was it… Rose?" Sylvia asked rather cautiously. "I mean… I figured you two must have had a row… I went up to my room and saw her crying and calling you – well, some really rude things… I didn't even know she _knew_ words like—"

Albus shook his head again. "Vaisey."

"What?" chorused Scorpius and Sylvia.

"What did you do to make him that angry?" she asked. "I mean… God, that came out wrong…"

Albus swallowed hard. "He said…"

He cut himself off. Scorpius was staring straight at him and Albus wasn't about to further a rumor he wasn't sure was true. "He said something rude about Rose standing up for Scorpius, and I told him to shove off."

"Bet he loved that," said Sylvia grimly.

"And then I told him it wasn't Scorpius's fault that Lucius Malfoy killed his grandfather—"

Sylvia put her hands to her mouth. Scorpius went snow white.

"Next thing I know," Albus explained, "he's on top of me. He didn't even bother with his wand – he just kept punching me over and over and over…"

His voice cracked and he blinked hard, but he could not stop the tears from coming.

"That…" Sylvia fumed for a moment, as if she could not find a word strong enough to describe the perpetrator of such actions.

"Vaisey's a coward," said Scorpius, his eyes now assuming the same frightening intensity they always did whenever he talked about Quidditch. "He doesn't have the guts to duel me to my face…"

"Oh, come off it, you don't want that," said Sylvia seriously, turning her attention from Albus for a moment. "He _hates_ you, Scorpius. I mean, really _hates_ you. If he did this to Albus…"

"He probably wants to do ten times worse to me, but I don't care," Scorpius snarled. He was as enraged as Albus had ever seen him – with extra fury to spare. "I've caught grief for trying to defend the Malfoy name… but that should be my fight – _mine!_"

Scorpius's shout echoed in the breezeway and castle grounds.

"Well… what happened to Vaisey?" Sylvia asked, obviously trying both to ask a question and head Scorpius off before his anger got the best of him. "They didn't just stand back and let him pound on you, did they?"

"Tommy stopped him," Albus explained, finally getting his composure back. "I'm not sure what's gonna happen to him now…"

"They'd better chuck him out," Scorpius said darkly. "…Because if he shows up in the common room tonight, he'll wish they had."

And, hurling his broom to the ground, he stormed away. Sylvia watched him for a second, wide eyed, before turning to Albus.

"We'd better stay with him in case he tries something daft," she said grimly, picking up Scorpius's broomstick. "Come on…"

Albus stood up, a bit ashamed to look Sylvia in the eye.

"For what it's worth…" she said, sounding a bit diminished from her usual confident self. It was this sudden vulnerability in her voice that got Albus's attention. When he looked up at her, though, she wasn't meeting his eyes. "That was a good thing you did. I'm sure… I'm sure your dad would be proud of you."

Somehow, this made Albus feel just a bit better.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Halloween Again**

**Albus**

As it turned out, Vaisey had been given a similar punishment to the one James had received several weeks before – not expulsion, but a type of forced exile from the Gryffindor community. Where he'd been sent, none of the Gryffindors really knew, and Vaisey (who had taken to socializing with Desmond McLaggen during class, if with anyone at all) certainly wasn't saying.

As time went on, however, the cloud of that evening seemed to pale in comparison to its many silver linings. The first thing that had happened had been somewhat immediate – Rowan Lester and Albus were now on speaking terms again. Rowan was something of a lamb – a fact for which Albus couldn't completely blame him. After all, he was still trying to find his way in the wizarding world. To his credit, though, Rowan's tendency to follow was matched only by his innocence about the new world around him. In short, he hadn't grown up with prejudices against anyone, and was very quick to wash his hands of Vaisey's views. Unfortunately, though, Rowan still had an irrational fear of anyone female – except perhaps Professor Gladstone, whom he'd apparently taken to calling his "wizard world mum."

The second thing that had happened, strangely enough, was that the friendship between Albus, Scorpius, and Sylvia had solidified. Scorpius never did have a chance to carry out the war he had declared on Stephan Vaisey, but the fact that he'd thought enough about Albus to go that far meant a lot.

Unfortunately, though, whenever the three sat together in class or in the Great Hall or in the Gryffindor common room, there was always an empty space – at the table and arguably inside Albus himself as well. Albus had tried to apologize to Rose in the days following their row, but she had always walked away from him. Albus tried to be patient, figuring she had to relent at some point. After all, separating from Albus was one thing, but it had left her essentially on an island. She ate alone, studied alone, sat alone in class, and hardly talked to anyone. Sylvia, probably for Albus's sake, had invited Rose to lunch, but one withering glare from the Weasley girl was enough to make Sylvia give up the quest.

Albus wasn't about to bend and kick Sylvia to the nearest curb just so Rose could be comfortable – especially not now. Even though serenity wasn't nearly Sylvia's strong point, there was something comforting to him about having her around. Maybe it was the fact that she could find humor in just about any situation, whereas he and Scorpius were (according to her) a bit too serious.

Around all of this (as they tend to do in any school, magic or no) classes went on. Professor Ambrose and the Potions class had started work on the Shrinking Solution. As guilty as Albus felt for admitting it, he was starting to agree with Sylvia on one thing. The brews themselves were somewhat fascinating, as were the many processes used to make them, but the most entertaining portions of the Potions class were the accidents that tended to happen when students got them wrong. In less than two months, Albus had seen a number of these mishaps. More than a few potions had exploded in their brewers' faces; there had been a handful of melted ladles and, once or twice, cauldron bottoms gave way.

None of these accidents happened to Albus himself. He seemed to have something of a knack for Potions – a bit ironic considering his father's history with the course. Of course, Rose being Rose, she was the best potion brewer in their class.

Professor Gladstone was her usual self in Charms, somehow managing the all-but-impossible balancing act of making her class productive and enjoyable at the same time. Neville had debuted the discussion of the wizarding world's most dangerous plants, although he had (fortunately) not yet exposed the first years to any of them. (The exception, of course, was the Venomous Tentacula, which had apparently become something of a fixture in the Hogwarts greenhouses.)

Defence Against the Dark Arts was still tense. Astronomy was still extremely late and not that interesting. History of Magic was still early and even less interesting. The only saving grace for Albus and much of the class was Rowan, who (as good as his word) seemed genuinely interested in wizarding history, no matter who taught it. Whereas most of the class spent most of the hour in a Binns-induced stupor, Rowan Lester seemed immune to the drone of Binns' voice. He watched the ghost professor with rapt attention, taking down notes so furiously that he'd sometimes snap his quill clean in half, repair it with his wand, and keep going without missing a beat.

The undercurrent of excitement that had filtered through Gryffindor House in the last half of October turned into a groundswell of anticipation as Halloween approached. The first match of the Quidditch season, which would see Gryffindor face Hufflepuff, was now only days away. Despite the fact that Hufflepuff had won the Cup the year before, there was no shortage of confidence on the Gryffindor side. After all, Hufflepuff had fielded a mostly senior team the year before, and several of their starters from the previous season had graduated.

Almost unconsciously, Albus found himself keeping a closer watch on Scorpius than before. His father had warned him that the atmosphere at Hogwarts could be a bit edgy when Quidditch matches approached.

Halloween came, almost before anyone even realized it. As Albus, Sylvia, and Scorpius followed the flow of a herd of Gryffindors walking toward the Great Hall for dinner, Albus allowed his eyes to wander. The torches that usually illuminated the castle walls had been replaced by (or perhaps Transfigured into) floating jack-o'-lanterns. Surprisingly, this didn't make the castle seem any more foreboding than it was already.

"Mum and Dad said that Hogwarts really goes all out with their holiday celebrations," Sylvia commented. "I can't wait to see what the Great Hall looks like."

Scorpius frowned, ruffling his hair so it stuck up at the back. "I sure hope the school ghosts don't take Halloween as an invitation to start popping up out of tables at random."

"Only the Fat Friar ever does that," Sylvia said, shrugging.

"_I know_," Scorpius said impatiently. "And he's the _Hufflepuff_ ghost. Think about that for a second."

Sylvia laughed. "You think the Hufflepuffs would send a ghost after you to throw you off your game or something?"

Albus frowned. "This is _Quidditch_ we're talking about. You can't put anything past anybody."

"You worry too much, Al," Sylvia said dismissively. "Besides, Hufflepuff House doesn't really have those types…"

"'Every flock has a few black sheep,'" said Scorpius sagely. Sylvia turned to look at him, obviously not expecting this level of eloquence. Scorpius looked away from her a bit nervously and added, "It's something my dad says every now and again."

"So how are you feeling?" Albus asked after a few moments' pause. "No more practices until the big game, right?"

"Relieved – the whole team is," Scorpius answered. "We _need_ to play a game. We're at each other's throats, almost."

"McLaggen causing that much trouble?" asked Albus, naturally assuming this was the case. To his surprise, Scorpius shook his head.

"He doesn't help matters… but it's really everybody," he said pointedly. "We're seeing too much of each other, what with Cole taking us to three practices a week…"

"Three?" said Sylvia, her mouth agape with astonishment. "He _does_ realize you have to do your schoolwork at some point, right?"

"My marks are fine, _mum_," said Scorpius sarcastically. Sylvia was caught off guard; this was so out of character for him that she burst into laughter. "You're starting to sound like –"

He stopped and looked at Albus.

"…Like Rose," he finished, almost at a mutter.

"I already know she's been helping you with your work," Albus said pre-emptively. "She told me weeks ago."

"Aw… that's so sweet," Sylvia mewled. Scorpius started looking down at his shoes. Albus took a deep breath. He couldn't believe it had come to this.

"So, do you actually talk about anything other than schoolwork?" he asked Scorpius.

"She tries very hard not to…" Scorpius muttered. "But…"

Scorpius swallowed hard. Mercifully, the momentary tension that followed was broken by the group's entrance into the Great Hall. The faux-sky in the Hall's ceiling was clear and starry. Floating jack-o'-lanterns had replaced the candles that normally bobbed in the air overhead, the melding of their firelights bathing the upper half of the hall in an orange glow. They sat down in their usual spot.

"Eurrrghh…" Sylvia groaned, visibly sticking out her tongue. "Pumpkin-themed sweets… should have seen that coming."

"Do you not like pumpkins?" Scorpius asked.

"Ask an obvious question, get an obvious answer," Sylvia simply replied. Albus looked up at the staff table and noticed that it was quite a bit more crowded than it normally was. In fact, most of the school had turned out to eat dinner at more or less the same time, which didn't normally happen. Albus had never bothered asking his parents if all the students ate at the same time for every meal in previous generations. He himself had grown somewhat used to seeing the Great Hall more or less half full. With a few exceptions, the older half of the student population tended to eat dinner a bit later. As for when the staff ate, that depended on the professor and it was really anyone's guess.

Today, though, he noticed that a large portion of the staff table had gathered. From this distance, it looked less like Hagrid was eating and more like Hagrid's beard was absorbing the food. At another end sat Professors Malcolm and Gladstone. This hadn't been the first time he had seen them together, either. Now that he looked at them, he supposed they might have been about the same age, and wondered if they had attended classes at Hogwarts together. A few chairs away, the Potions professor, Ithamar Ambrose, was stealing glances at them and looking sullen. Neville was trying to get his attention. Albus wondered if they were discussing lesson plans. Both professors had revealed that they would be co-teaching a class or two in the near future. It made sense, Albus supposed, as many potions were made from magical plants and herbs.

Flitwick looked a bit somber as he contemplated his food. A witch in her later teens that Albus vaguely recognized as being Hogwarts' Head Girl bent down low and whispered in his ear. Flitwick looked at her for a moment, then nodded and pulled out his wand as he leapt off his chair and waddled around the staff table to where the podium would have been. Just as Albus began to wonder, the podium magically appeared as if conjured. (Then, Albus reminded himself that it probably _had_ been conjured.) Flitwick stepped up to it. Albus, figuring that some sort of announcement was coming, rapped Scorpius on the arm and pointed in Flitwick's direction. Sylvia looked that way as well.

"Attention, students," Flitwick's squeaky but magically amplified voice carried across the Great Hall. The myriad of conversations that had been taking place died out as he repeated the statement. They had been replaced by curious murmuring.

"What's going on?" whispered Sylvia.

"No idea," answered Albus.

"Some of you will have been acquainted with Mr. Argus Filch," Flitwick said. Albus had been told (or rather, warned) by his Uncle Ron to steer clear of Filch if at all possible. Between his advanced age, even more advanced rheumatism, and the fact that his dear pet cat had finally died several years ago, Filch wasn't nearly as visible or as feared as he'd been in years past. In fact, most of the students now thought him to be something of a sad joke – desperately clinging to a post he likely should have relinquished decades ago. "Mr. Filch, for those of you that don't know, served as Hogwarts' caretaker for nearly fifty years and was famously an overseer of the cleaning efforts after the castle was attacked during the last war. Well…"

Flitwick took a breath.

"I have the unfortunate duty, dear students, staff…" he said somberly. "…to inform you all that Argus Filch passed away early this morning."

A hushed murmur filled the castle. Filch was the furthest thing from popular, but not nearly hated enough for his death to be cause for open celebration. In fact, most students knew his life story and rather pitied him.

"He went perhaps the best way possible for one who had seen so much in this castle – peacefully, in his sleep, without prolonged suffering," Flitwick went on. He seemed to choke up for a second or two, then continued: "Argus Filch, whatever you may have thought of him as a man, was loyal to the care of this place to the end – even he was never able to attend here as a student. He will be buried properly, with our people, along with other former Professors, Headmasters, and contributors in the Hogwarts Row of Honours at Hogsmeade Cemetery."

Silence, and then scattered, perfunctory applause followed Flitwick's statement, although he did hear someone say, "Good for him."

"While we mourn the death of the old," Flitwick went on, "we must also remember to celebrate the arrival of the new. As fortune would have it, we began our search for Mr. Filch's eventual successor at the start of this term, and I am happy to say we have found an individual more than willing and able to take the job. Will you please give a warm Hogwarts welcome to our new caretaker – Mr. Gregory Vincent!"

As the students applauded, the Great Hall's doors burst open. A quite large gorilla of a man walked through them – tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired. A dark, stubbly, not-quite-a-beard covered his face. He wasn't nearly as old as Filch had been – he looked to be middle-aged, if that. His large, somewhat dim eyes were blinking quite a bit as he passed by. The crowd of students hushed quickly as he stood below Flitwick's podium and turned around.

"Does he look familiar to you?" Scorpius asked.

"Not a bit," said Albus, shaking his head.

"He's a _monster_," Sylvia commented. "I wonder if he's part-giant like Hagrid?"

"He's not nearly as big as Hagrid," Albus disagreed.

"Well, he's quite large enough," remarked Sylvia. "I wouldn't want to get on his bad side – I'll put it like that."

As the applause died down, Flitwick spoke again: "Thank you – and _thank you_, Mr. Vincent, for agreeing to take this post. Now, students, I should note to you, that unlike some of his predecessors, Mr. Vincent here _can_ perform magic. In short, that means that some of the tactics you and others before you have used to hoodwink some of our other caretakers will not work on him."

Flitwick's eyes glinted knowingly.

"As a footnote to these announcements – and correct me if I'm mistaken – I believe I heard something about the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup season starting again soon?"

The students laughed appreciatively at Flitwick's tongue-in-cheek statement.

"Ho ho… dear me, it's that time already," he chuckled. "The seasons do seem to run together at my age. In any event…"

**James**

"…I would like to take this opportunity to formally extend my best wishes to the teams of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff this weekend," Flitwick went on. "As well as to Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

Richard Murphy stifled a yawn. "Is he gonna keep talking all night or can we enjoy our meal?"

"Good question," James muttered.

"So…" Murphy had been dancing around the subject until Flitwick brought it up. "The big day's almost here, huh? Do you think you'll get into the game at any point?"

"Depends on how long it goes," James answered casually. A buzz of sound filled the Great Hall again. Evidently Flitwick had stopped speaking, allowing everyone else to go back to their meals and conversations. "And the weather. If there's bad weather, we'll be subbing out all the time. If Malfoy catches the Snitch in thirty seconds, well –"

"I don't know if you're going over the top to be nice about him since last month," Murphy interrupted, a wry grin on his face, "but Malfoy's not gonna catch the Snitch in thirty seconds. Nobody does that."

"You haven't seen him in practice. He just might," James said somewhat darkly. "In any case, I like our chances. Hufflepuff's got a young team this year, and unless the guy that replaced Teddy at Seeker's gotten loads better over the summer, there's no way they stay with us."

He glanced up at Professor Malcolm, who had evidently told Gladstone some sort of joke, as she was laughing.

"If I get in, though…" he said. "I'm going for the throat. I'm gonna make sure we _bury_ 'em."

He took a Pumpkin Pasty.

"You know your mum wouldn't like you eating dessert first," laughed Murphy.

"Well, that's why mums don't come on the train with us to Hogwarts, isn't it?" chuckled James. "Look, I can't stop Malcolm from being a git. What I can do is crush his House so badly on the pitch that they've got no shot at the Cup this year."

He went to lean back and found his head in someone's stomach. That someone backed up a step.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered a bit awkwardly, sitting up and turning around. "Oh… hi."

"You know these three?" Murphy asked, sounding astonished. James looked over the three. They were standing in a sort-of arc around him, and he honestly felt a bit crowded in. Flanked by two boys was a young witch with dark red hair and a red face.

"I haven't introduced you to- " stammered James, looking between Murphy and the other three. Murphy shook his head. James grimaced. "Murph, this is Tellius Nott, Phillip Bletchley, and Brynne Walter."

The boys' faces stayed stoic; Brynne beamed widely.

"You're _Slytherins_," said Murphy, tilting his head, his eyes fixed on the neck area of the three first years, where their green ties indicated their House.

"Yes, we are," Tellius Nott answered. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No, not really," Murphy answered, nevertheless looking terribly uncomfortable.

Phillip Bletchley frowned.

"C'mon, it's not like we're vampires or anything. You act like you've never seen a Slytherin in broad daylight."

"Well, you lot live far enough underground…" muttered James.

"Oh, shut it," Phillip replied, a smirk nevertheless crossing his face. Brynne burst into laughter, earning her a few uncomfortable glances from the four boys.

"Um… d'you guys want to sit down?" James asked.

"Nah, we were just leaving," Phillip answered. "We actually would've just gone, but _someone_ insisted we stop and say hi to you before we left."

He was staring rather intently at Brynne, who stared back with her big, blue eyes until Phillip backed off. She turned her attention to James. "We just wanted to wish you luck this weekend. We'll be rooting for you."

"Speak for yourself," Tellius scoffed. "_I_ haven't forgotten which House I'm in."

"Well… we'll be rooting for you until you play Slytherin," Brynne said. Turning to Tellius, she added, "Fair enough?"

Tellius shrugged his shoulders. Brynne turned to James, biting her lip for a moment.

"Okay… well… bye," she said, skipping off without the other two boys. Tellius and Phillip both watched Brynne skip away and then shook their heads in tandem.

"I guess we'll be seeing you around… James," Phillip said with a nod as he and Tellius departed.

"You didn't tell me you had a fan club of Slytherins!" Murphy exclaimed, startling James.

"Oh – what?" he uttered distractedly. "Fan club? No, it's not like that."

"Well, someone's obviously a fan," said Murphy wryly. "Or did you not notice how dotty she was acting?"

"Brynne? Oh… she's always like that," James murmured.

"Around you, or in general?" asked Murphy. James looked at him askance.

"What are you getting at?"

Murphy groaned. "She fancies you, idiot."

"What?" James squirmed in his chair uncomfortably. "And how do you figure that?"

Murphy raised his eyebrows. "I have a sixth sense about these things, mate."

James rolled his eyes. "You're full of it, Murph."

"What's going on?" James winced as a boy sat down opposite them at the table. He liked Freddy enough, but this was a terrible time for him to show up, in James' opinion.

"Oh, nothing much. James just has himself a girlfriend," Murphy said casually.

"Do not!" James retorted hotly.

"Our little James has a girlfriend?" Just as James had feared, Freddy was going to take it and run with it until somebody stopped him. Then, he was going to run with it a couple miles farther. "Please do elaborate."

"She's not my girlfriend," James said stubbornly, folding his arms. "She's a friend… who happens to be a girl."

"Ah – you hear that? Those are the famous last words, mate," said Freddy to Murphy. Turning to James, he asked, "What's her name?"

"None of your bloody—" James started, but Murphy cut him off.

"Brynne Walter. She's a first year," he said. "She's also a Slytherin."

"Titchy? Redhead?" Freddy asked, seemingly unperturbed about Murphy's last bit of information.

"Right in one," Murphy nodded. "You know her?"

"_Merlin's pants,"_ groaned James. "Have you been spying on me in the Great Hall or something?"

"Not really," chuckled Freddy. "I just happened to see you together at lunch a couple of times… a week. I'm rather busy. You'll know what I mean soon."

"Brynne and I are _friends_," snarled James stubbornly.

"Anyway… let me let you in on a dirty little secret they don't tell you," Freddy said. James winced; knowing Freddy, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what was coming next. "Girls are always little bit ahead of us. That's why it's so hard for us lads – and never gets much easier. By the time he's going on thirteen, he thinks maybe girls aren't so terrible to be around. By the time _she's_ going on twelve, she's already got a place in mind for the wedding, and a couple of names each for a son and a daughter."

James cringed. Brynne was just mad enough that James couldn't put that sort of behavior past her. If Freddy and Murphy were right, she might have returned to her bed or a couch in the Slytherin common room, and she might even now be thinking about what her and James's children would look like…

"Come off it, guys," James finally groaned. "I mean, I'm only a second year… and _she's_ a first year…"

"So there's no way she can fancy you because she's just too young to think like that?" Freddy asked, a glint seizing his eye. "Why don't you run that theory past your mum and see what she makes of it?"

And with that final, maddening comment, Freddy jumped up from the table and departed, leaving James gaping after him.

"What in the _ruddy hell_ did he mean by that?"

Murphy shrugged his shoulders. "'S _your_ family…"

**Albus**

Albus awoke to find his bedroom quiet and half-empty. After wondering why this was the case, he realized with a jolt that both Scorpius _and_ Desmond would have departed. Rowan was silently but hurriedly pulling on his clothes. He eyed himself in the room's one mirror with an air of dissatisfaction. He pulled his wand from the back pocket of his jeans and pointed it at his sweater. (Dad would have had a heart attack, Albus thought; apparently neither of these actions were good ideas.)

"_Aurochromius_!" he shouted. Albus vaguely recognized it as a spell they had gone over recently in Charms. Instantly, the brown sweater he was wearing lightened to a gold color. Rowan frowned. "Blech… too bright. _Rossochromius!_"

The sweater turned orange. Rowan squeaked.

"What happened?! I thought _rossochromius _was red!" he groaned, looking down at himself.

Albus sighed, climbing out of the bed. "That's because you can't go straight from one color to another. You have to use the Uncoloring Charm first – otherwise the colors will just mix."

Rowan frowned. "Oh. Okay, I'll try again. _Chromia finite!_"

The sweater went back to its normal brown. Albus started to put on his own clothes.

"_Rossochromius!_" Rowan said again. His sweater went from brown to a perfect Gryffindor scarlet. He beamed broadly. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, "Does it work on body parts, I wonder?"

Albus grimaced as he pulled on his shirt. "Rowan, I wouldn't –"

"_Aurochromius!_"

Albus watched, now unable to stop it. To his surprise (and relief) Rowan's thatched, light brown hair lightened even further and gained golden tones, so that it looked rather like flax or straw.

He turned around. "Hey, it worked! How do I look?"

"Very, erm… Gryffindorian?" Albus said, trying to hide his doubt that the last word of his statement was indeed a word.

"This is going to be my first time seeing a Quidditch match," he said very quickly. "I'm so excited!"

Albus smiled, thinking that Rowan was rather stating the obvious.

"C'mon, let's get down to the Great Hall so we can eat and get some good seats at the pitch!" he exclaimed. Albus frowned.

"Um… Rowan?"

"What's going on?" asked Rowan quickly.

"I was actually sorta planning on… meeting some of my friends and family for breakfast," he murmured. "And… well, Sylvia and Rose are gonna be there."

Actually, it was Sylvia, Roxanne, Tommy Jordan, and then possibly (but not probably) Rose. But the 'Sylvia and Rose' part was all Rowan needed to hear. His face fell.

"Oh… well, I guess I'll just… I dunno…"

Albus felt a bit bad. Rowan had been friends with Vaisey, but the two hadn't talked since Vaisey and Albus had gotten into that fight. Scorpius and McLaggen were gone as well, which meant that Albus was essentially the only friend Rowan had in their year.

_But_, Albus – or at least a part of him – said to himself, _it's his own fault. If he wasn't so stupid about being around girls, he'd probably have more friends_.

"Why don't you come with us?" asked Albus insistently. "You're not that afraid of girls, are you?"

"I'm _not_ afraid of girls," said Rowan much too defensively. Albus gave him a flat expression.

"Every time one comes anywhere near you, you run away," he deadpanned.

"There's a girl in my neighborhood that likes to hit me, okay?" Rowan blurted out as if he'd been holding this in for months. He flopped down onto the bed. "She's the same age as I am. You can go ahead and laugh now."

"So all the girls in our year remind you of her?" Albus asked, frowning at this rationale.

"I don't want to take any chances, alright?" Rowan whimpered. "Especially since this lot can use magic. I don't wanna be a punching bag for some girl's jinxes just for kicks and giggles, okay?"

"Sylvia's not like –" Albus stopped himself. "Well… only if you make her mad. Just… don't make her mad, and you'll be okay. Roxanne's really funny – wait 'til you meet her. Rose is actually kind of shy like you… and she might not even show up."

Rowan responded to all of this with a thoroughly noncommittal "Mmph."

Albus, who had grabbed a jacket and was on his way out of the room, turned to him and said, "Look, I don't want to be mean, but I promised this lot… so either find your stones or spend the rest of the day by yourself."

Rowan frowned. "I can't…"

"'Course you can," Albus laughed. "You're a Gryffindor, right? Chivalry, courage, all that stuff."

Rowan didn't respond. Albus gave up and departed. He wasn't nearly naïve enough to believe that everyone around him could be one of his best mates. Some people – McLaggen, Vaisey, and Rowan, just to name a few – simply had their hang-ups and quirks.

In any case, it wasn't his fault that one of the first girls Rowan met happened to like punching people. Just like it wasn't his fault that Vaisey's and Scorpius's grandfathers had come across each other so many years ago. Just like it _also_ wasn't his fault that Desmond McLaggen's father wanted the amount of fame and notoriety that seemed to come so easily to Albus's father.

He felt guilty enough for the row he'd had with Rose now coming up on several days back, but at least he could be reasonably certain he'd _earned_ Rose's ire. Everyone else was distant or hostile for things that simply weren't Albus Potter's fault.

_You shouldn't be complaining_, he thought to himself as he found his way into the Great Hall (shivering as a Hogwarts ghost took the path of least resistance _right through him_). _It could be worse. You could be your dad. He spent most of his time in this castle with a great Dark wizard target on his chest._

His eyes immediately found the others. They were a bit further toward the staff table than Albus was used to sitting, and between them and him was another girl, eating her breakfast alone. She was a bit older than Albus, quite pretty, and had long, silvery blond hair that looked to have been given extra care.

Albus walked past her, and then turned and did a double take.

"D-Dominique?"

It had been a wild guess at best; nonetheless it had been the correct one. Dominique Weasley, whom Albus hadn't seen at length in quite a while, looked up from her breakfast and straight at Albus. Albus instantly knew there was something wrong. While not particularly boisterous or loud, Dominique's disposition was usually upbeat.

"Oh… morning, Albus," she said, her perfect English tinged with the tiniest bit of an accent.

"Hi," Albus replied. Then, suddenly remembering something, he uttered, "Er… happy birthday!"

For today was the fourth of November, and Dominique would be turning fourteen years old.

"Thanks," she replied, smiling a very weak, false sort of smile.

"What are you doing here?" asked Albus. "I thought you didn't like Quidditch."

"I don't," Dominique said. "But the whole school will be here in an hour. I'm not in the mood for crowds today."

"Oh." Albus frowned. "Not even Roxanne?"

Albus knew Roxanne and Dominique, although their personalities differed, were fairly close.

"It's… complicated," Dominique sighed.

"Oh," Albus said again. "…Girl stuff?"

"You could say that," Dominique replied.

Albus wasn't sure what to do. He knew that the chances of Dominique explaining to him why she was so sullen (because it was painfully obvious) were slim to none. At the same time, he wanted to help.

He always wanted to be the one to solve people's problems. His mum always told him that he got that from his father – and that, while it wasn't a bad thing, it wasn't necessarily a good thing, either.

"Well…" Albus finally said, "If you're sure you're alright… I guess I'll see you around."

"Bye," replied Dominique, looking up from her steaming mug of tea as Albus began to walk away.

"C'mon, Al, you're already late!" a shout came from further up the table. Albus looked up and watched Sylvia slide down a hair, rapping the empty spot on the bench where she had just been. Albus settled in next to her and looked up and around at all the people that he knew. Roxanne looked a fair bit like her mum, with her black hair in a myriad of plaits. It looked like it had taken a long time to fix. Tommy Jordan sat next to her, half-leaning against the table while drinking a piping hot cup of something. Richard Murphy's long, lank hair hung somewhat over one of his eyes in front. He kept having to toss his head back to see properly. Sylvia, much like Rowan, had made an obvious effort to dress in Gryffindor colors, with her scarlet sweater and gold lace ribbon in her ponytailed hair.

"What took you?" asked Murphy.

"My roommate needed some help getting ready… don't ask," Albus said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, don't sit there gaping at us like a prat," said Roxanne impatiently. "Hurry up and eat so we can go get seats."

"Good lord, woman – don't get your knickers in a twist," sighed Tommy. "Match doesn't start for near three hours."

"I don't want to have to find out details of the match secondhand, thanks," said Roxanne. "And I'll _also_ thank you to leave my knickers out of the conversation."

Albus couldn't find any _possible_ way to segue from Roxanne's knickers to his area of concern, so he just asked the question: "Any idea why Dominique's sitting over there looking like Christmas just got cancelled?"

Roxanne broke from her rather violent encounter with a biscuit and looked in that direction. Her face grew sullen. "Oh, she's been that way, I dunno… last two weeks."

"What's wrong with her?" asked Tommy. Albus caught a glimpse of a very uncomfortable expression on Roxanne's face.

"Ah, well…" she said, grimacing. "She's kinda hit that stage – you know how it is. She's going through changes…"

"Say no more," said Tommy, raising a hand. Darkly, he added, "I'm serious. I don't want to know."

Roxanne laughed appreciatively – but Albus saw her smile fade for a moment.

**James**

The stiff breeze whipped James's black hair, making it messier than it had been. He grasped his broom, a school-issued original Firebolt. Another gust of wind unbalanced him for a second.

"Really whipping this morning," muttered Cole Murphy, who had come to James's side to stand next to him.

Murphy walked forward, further into the mostly empty stadium. Turrets surrounded the pitch in a vague ring, the vast majority of them adorned in checkerboard patterns with House colors. A few particularly fanatical Quidditch fans were already taking seats in those towers. James looked around himself. He'd been on (and over) this pitch what seemed like a hundred times in the last couple of months, but only now, with the match now mere hours away, did he gain an appreciation for just how vast it was.

Cole Murphy took a deep breath. "Alright, lads!"

"Excuse me?" called Greta Stanford from somewhere vaguely behind James.

"And lass," Cole added much too late with a weak smile. "As you can probably feel, we've got a bit of a breeze blowing."

"A bit?" repeated tall, blond seventh year Chaser, Gaspar Mitchell. "This is bloody awful. We'll need a miracle for the Chasers to do much scoring in this."

"We'll just have to play good defense, then," replied Cole. "Another thing – from what I've heard, the Chasers on Hufflepuff's bench are nothing to trifle with, either. We can't afford to be lax. And Beaters, be _careful_. Know what the hell you're doing before you swing. The Bludgers won't fly true in this wind. Aim wrong and you'll wind up cracking someone's head open."

"I thought that was the whole point of being a Beater," grunted Desmond, who looked about ten times more foreboding with Quidditch gear and a Beater's club in his hands.

"Not if it's a Gryffindor head," answered Cole impatiently, putting his hand up to his forehead to smooth back his windblown hair. "And, for God's sake, keep the bloody darks off Malfoy. It's gonna be enough of a time catching the wicked in these conditions."

This was one of the rare times James was very glad he'd spent quite a bit of time around Cole. Otherwise he wouldn't have understood a word Cole was saying. "Darks" were a slang term for Bludgers, derived from their usual jet-black color. The "wicked" was, apparently, the Golden Snitch. James didn't quite understand what the connection was between the Snitch and the word "wicked" – except that it was wicked difficult to catch.

"I wouldn't complain, Murph," Mitch chuckled. "It could be worse. 'Least it's not rai—"

"Don't say it," Cole interrupted with a shudder. "All right, you lot, back into the locker rooms."

James hung back for a moment, staring up into the stands. For once, he had to admit to himself, he wished his dad was here. He was terribly nervous. He knew he could fly well in practice. But doing it with about a thousand people screaming at you and real games at stake was another thing entirely.

" 'Just remember, you're only a Chaser,' " James muttered to himself, because that sounded like the sort of thing his dad would have said at the moment. " 'And a reserve one at that. The whole game isn't on your shoulders.' "

Which was true, thought James, but since he was the son of Harry and Ginny Potter, a lot of eyes would be trained on him – all wanting to see if he had any of his parents' talent. He couldn't very well go out and make a prat of himself with a poor showing. Other people could get away with it in their first game, but since he was a Potter…

"Nervous?" a voice, and one James wasn't expecting, asked. Scorpius was walking toward him, his blond hair every bit as wild as James's black locks, if not moreso.

"You could say I've got a lot to live up to," James answered after a while. "Hey, listen –"

"Forget about it," Scorpius cut him off, shaking his head. "I don't hold any grudge against you."

James was flabbergasted. "Wh – you don't?"

"I never wanted a fight," Scorpius said simply. "And you obviously don't, either. So what's the problem?"

James sighed meaningfully. "Guess there isn't one."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Badgers and Bludgers**

**Albus**

Albus tried to fight off a shiver as he and the others huddled into place in the front of the standing area that encircled the pitch. The November air bit through his coat. He wished he'd brought his scarf. Sylvia had been smart – a red-and-gold knitted scarf encircled her neck, the tassels on it flapping in the wind as she bumped into him. Several blurs blazed golden trails against the iron-gray sky.

"Looks like the Hufflepuffs are already out," murmured Sylvia, spitting a bit as the wind forced some of her curly, black hair into her mouth. Looking up at the sky, she added, "I really hope it doesn't rain…."

"Don't worry about that," Albus heard Roxanne say from somewhere behind them. "These stands are charmed to repel rain – so we'll stay dry. Warm, though… that's another story altogether…"

"Ouch!" Albus heard a girl's voice moan as someone was jostled into him. He was looking back at Roxanne and whirled around to see a head of somewhat bushy, auburn hair…

Rose Weasley turned around and looked him right in the eye.

"Oh… hi, Rose…" Sylvia said with stilted brightness, but she quickly trailed off.

Rose glared at Sylvia for a second before turning forward, muttering mutinously to herself. Sylvia clenched her fists…

"Why do you have to be like that?!" she had exploded. Albus rounded on her with a warning look, but she ignored it, shoving him out of the way for access to Rose. Albus had to pull her back. "Get out of it! Al feels _terrible_ for what happened. You don't need to be so mean."

"C'mon, Sylvia, stop…" Albus muttered halfheartedly. Rose didn't respond.

"Fine, then," Sylvia snapped, yanking herself away from Albus. "Suit yourself. Be foul to us if you want. It's not like you have any other friends."

"_Sylvia!_" groaned Albus, whirling around to Rose, who was gripping the railing in front of her so hard she was trembling with the effort. Her knuckles were chalk-white. Her face was contorted as she stared out at the pitch, making a sound much like a bull ready to charge. Her eyes, though, told a different story. Albus could see tears splashing down onto her hands. Gingerly, Albus went to touch her shoulder, but withdrew his hand after Rose violently slapped it away.

"Piss off!" she shrieked, looking straight at him, her eyes wide beyond reason. Then she buried her face in her palms and burst into tears.

Albus put his arms around her, a bit awkwardly as she initially resisted. He felt a hot surge of anger at Sylvia.

"What's wrong with you?" he snarled, turning vaguely in her direction.

Sylvia was looking somewhat upset, and somewhat satisfied with herself. Albus wasn't even certain if those two emotions could occupy the same face at the same time. Through her grimace, she said, "Was that too much? Next time, don't be so bloody stubborn."

And she turned her eyes toward the pitch again. Meanwhile, Albus could hear Tommy and Roxanne talking behind him.

"What did we just watch?"

"First year drama. Probably best not to ask," Roxanne deadpanned.

"OW! Quit shoving!" Albus was bumped again – this time because someone had hit Sylvia, who had hit him. Albus broke off from Rose to look at Sylvia, and past Sylvia to Rowan, whose face went quite white. "Aw, bugg—"

"Do I know you?" asked Sylvia, looking the small boy over.

"No – not at all," the boy said hastily.

"_Rowan_," groaned Albus. (Rose sniffled behind him; she was drying her eyes.)

"What? No, Al," said Sylvia rather certainly. "Rowan's got brown hair."

"That's Rowan," Albus repeated, sighing loudly. "He did some… tests with an_ aurochromius _charm. Looks like it _does_ work on body parts – or hair, at least."

Sylvia looked at it curiously – then to Albus's discomfort and Rowan's great horror, she reached up toward the latter's golden thatch. Rowan recoiled like someone had just put a lit match to his scalp.

"Is that real?" Sylvia asked, sounding genuinely curious. Albus grimaced. He could tell that Sylvia had just barely resisted the urge to pull at Rowan's colored locks.

"Wh – of course it's my real hair," Rowan suddenly said, sounding affronted.

"Wicked," she said. Rowan looked at her, gobsmacked. "You've gotta teach me how to do that. Not blonde, though… doesn't go with my skin very well."

Rowan tilted his head for a moment. "You ought to pay more attention to Professor Gladstone. We learned Coloring Charms a couple of weeks ago."

Sylvia huffed and turned back to Albus, obviously looking for backup. Albus just grimaced again, wondering inwardly why he always had to be everyone's mediator.

"Look!" Rose exclaimed all of a sudden. "Here they come!"

Cheers erupted from the stands, piercing through the stiff wind as a group of vaguely reddish-colored blurs ascended into the air, swirling and looping around each other, to the delight of most of the spectators.

"Do you see Freddy yet?" Albus heard Tommy asking Roxanne.

"How am I supposed to know?" asked Roxanne, and she sounded frustrated. "They all move too fast."

Albus, nonetheless, squinted, trying to force his eyes to discern his cousin's brown dreads, or perhaps his brother's shag of jet black, or maybe the shimmering white-blond locks of Scorpius Malfoy. Try as he might, though, he could not pick out one form from another.

"Do you see Scorpius yet?" Sylvia asked.

"I don't see _anything_," Albus groaned.

Finally, though, the Gryffindor Quidditch squad stopped their air show, and they went to the ground, joining the eleven Hufflepuff players who had all gathered in a clump next to Madam Hooch, who stood over a box.

"There they are!" Rose shouted, pointing down at the Gryffindor team. James and Freddy were bringing up the rear. Desmond wasn't far from them, his arms folded as he stared at the Hufflepuffs disdainfully.

"The teams are on the pitch," said an amplified voice very loudly. Thinking of who was behind him, Albus turned around.

"Hey, Tommy," he asked. "Who announces the Quidditch matches now?"

"Evan Hatcher," Tommy said. "He's a seventh-year from Ravenclaw. Might've been a decent player himself if he wasn't always airsick."

"He's a seventh-year?" asked Sylvia. "So he's graduating after this year, right?"

"That's… usually what happens after seven years at Hogwarts," Tommy said. "Unless you fail everything and get held back, which isn't unheard of…"

Sylvia didn't go onto this rabbit trail with the prefect. Instead, she simply turned her eyes forward. "Good to know."

"Madam Hooch is explaining the rules to the players," Hatcher explained. "For those of you that don't know, successful scores take place when the Quaffle passes through one of the three hoops on either side of the pitch. A player that does this scores ten points for their team. More importantly, however, if a Seeker catches the Golden Snitch, his or her team scores a hundred and fifty points, and the game immediately ends. The team that has more points at the end of the game – when the Golden Snitch is caught – is the victor."

"What about the fouls?" Sylvia groused. "Blagging, blatching, bumphing…"

"Are you mental?" Roxanne chuckled. "There are, what, six hundred some-odd fouls in Quidditch? If Hatcher had to explain all those, we'd be here a fortnight before the match even started."

"He wouldn't even have to go through the trouble of explaining the basics if the games weren't on radio now…" said Tommy.

"I wonder if Mum and Dad are listening?" Albus wondered. He watched as James, Desmond, and a couple other players retreated from the seven Albus assumed to be starting the match. Hufflepuff's team was captained by a girl. She couldn't have been any older than fourth or fifth year, and was obviously going out of her way not to look the least bit intimidated as Cole Murphy shook hands with her.

"The Captains are shaking hands," announced Hatcher. "Gryffindor is represented by seventh year Keeper, Cole Murphy, while representing Hufflepuff is fifth year Chaser, Auraleigh Conway. She's the most senior player Hufflepuff has to offer on a talented, but very young team this season. She's joined at her position by third year Chase Coleman and second year Tammy Falstaff – both reserves last season. The Hufflepuff team's newest starters are at Beater – twin brothers Alexander and Andrew Mack…"

"I didn't know the Macks made the Hufflepuff team," commented Sylvia.

"Talented third year Keeper Owen Trembley rounds out the backfield…" Hatcher attempted to explain, but his announcement was drowned out by a loud drone around the stadium.

"_OHHHHHHHHHHHH…"_

"That sound you hear in the background is the Hufflepuff faithful chanting 'O' for 'Owen'," Hatcher went on, trying to hide his amusement. "He's been a fan favorite since he joined the team last year."

"Third year Jason Maddox rounds out the Hufflepuff first line at Seeker. Now, onto Gryffindor…"

Almost predictably, the sound from the students directly around Albus – the vast majority of them Gryffindors – drowned out any hope of Albus hearing the names of the individual players. It was a good thing he knew the entire team roster, he thought.

"…and the Seeker's a new find – first year Scorpius Malfoy. Here we've got a young player at Quidditch's most high-stakes, high-pressure position, so we'll have to see how he does," Albus heard Hatcher say as the din around him suspiciously quieted to a murmur.

Albus and the others leaned forward, watching Scorpius, Murphy, and the others climb onto their brooms. The entire stadium watched with bated breath as Madam Hooch approached the box and let out the balls. With a bit of effort, she took the large, red one, and tossed it into the air. The stadium erupted.

"And the match is on!" shouted Evan Hatcher. "Hufflepuff takes possession of the Quaffle first. It's Conway, the Captain, on to Coleman, back to Conway, avoids a Bludger, shoots – _knocked away_! Cole Murphy was there and makes the save!"

A loud mixture of yells and groans erupts from the stands.

"Wow… that Conway girl's no joke," Roxanne commented.

"Greta Stanford has the Quaffle!" shouted Hatcher. Albus wondered if Hatcher was somehow able to magically slow down the game for himself – all Albus could see were blurs. "Stanford passes to Oakley, back to Stanford – Mitchell – Stanford – Oakley – clipped by a Bludger! He drops the Quaffle and the Hufflepuffs have it!"

"Damn!" swore Tommy over a loud chorus of groans.

"Mack's got good aim," Sylvia remarked. "…Not sure which Mack that was, but he's got good aim."

"Coleman – Falstaff – _hit! _And there's Madam Hooch with the whistle – it's Blumphing on Oakley."

"Aw, come on!" screeched Sylvia in disapproval as many of the Gryffindors started to jeer. "That's rubbish! Oakley didn't even lead with the elbow!"

"Elbow?" repeated Albus. "I thought that was Blatching."

"No, that's definitely Blumphing," replied Sylvia, as Tammy Falstaff hovered in front of Cole Murphy, holding the Quaffle and readying to take a penalty shot. "_That _wasn't Blumphing, but the name of the foul is 'Blumphing'…"

"No worries, though," Tommy commented. "Murphy's got this."

But Tammy Falstaff feinted to one side before breaking to the other during her advance, and Cole bit on the fake just enough that she was able to sneak the Quaffle past him.

"Or not," Tommy said flatly.

"We're fine," Albus said. "If Scorpius catches the Snitch, we're alright."

But there was nary a whimper from either Seeker for nearly an hour – and to make matters worse, Hufflepuff was slowly pulling ahead. The wind seemed to be giving Cole problems reading the Quaffle. On the other side, Trembley was tough as nails, and Albus and the others were forced to listen to long Hufflepuff drones of "OHHHHHHHH" every time the latter Keeper made a save – which was fairly often.

"Seventy to ten in favor of Hufflepuff," Evan Hatcher announced. He seemed to be keeping his energy up despite the length of the match. "Mitchell's got the Quaffle. Avoids Mack's Bludger – passes to Oakley and – my gosh!"

A loud yell arose from the Gryffindor stands as Demas Oakley took a second Bludger dead-center in his chest right as the Quaffle touched his hands. Oakley went into a nosedive and crashed spectacularly into the pitch, rolling to an ominous stop.

"Demas Oakley took a Bludger right to the midsection and he's clearly in pain," said Hatcher forebodingly.

"Foul!" snarled Albus. Looking at Sylvia, he asked breathlessly, "That's a foul, right? You can't attack a Chaser that doesn't have the Quaffle!"

"It was great timing," said Sylvia, grimacing. "Right as Oakley got his hands to the Quaffle, Mack cracked him right in the ribs. If the Bludger hits after the Chaser has the Quaffle, it's legal. Brutal… but legal."

"How'd Andrew – or Alexander, whoever – react that fast?" asked Tommy in astonishment. "First Mitch had the Quaffle and then…"

"Twins…" Roxanne replied. "Twins sort of have this… thing. It's part of what made… well, my Dad and Uncle Fred so good."

Albus knew that nobody mentioned the late Fred Weasley around the family members – least of all around Uncle George. Roxanne had been trained so well not to do it, she had a hard time bringing him up even when it was perfectly alright to do so.

"Well…" Tommy uttered. "Whatever that 'thing' was might put Professor Trelawney out of a job if they keep doing it. Oakley's in _bad_ shape…"

Albus was just too far to see what was happening with Oakley, but given his doubled-over stance and the group of Healers that were around him, it couldn't have been good. Meanwhile, Cole Murphy and the rest of the team had landed in the general vicinity of their injured teammate.

"Wait," Rose said quickly. She grabbed hold of Albus. "If Oakley's hurt and can't play, then that means…"

**James**

James stared blankly at Demas Oakley, who was trying but failing to get on his feet.

"Stay down, lad!" one of the Healers implored Oakley, who resisted.

"I'm… okay…" he protested breathlessly. "Just… winded…"

But then he sank to his knees again, making a horrible retching sound. Greta, who was standing next to James, recoiled in a bit of disgust.

"That's not good," commented Torvald Creese.

"Clever observation," said his Beater partner, Freddy. A couple of the other players seemed to be resisting the urge to laugh.

"_Damn it_," swore Cole, who was probably standing just close enough to see bits of whatever Demas Oakley had eaten for breakfast that morning. He drew himself up and turned toward the team.

"Well, there we have it," he said. "Looks like Oakley's finished for this match."

Greta and Mitch both turned toward James before Cole said anything, and it was only then that he realized what was going to happen.

"Potter?"

James steeled himself, suddenly becoming very aware of the size of the stadium and the loudness of the crowd. "Y-yeah?"

Cole walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't try to do too much. We're just stalling for time until we get the Snitch."

Cole walked away, calling loudly for Madam Hooch. His hand was replaced rather quickly by that of Greta Stanford. James couldn't help but get a bit hot in the face as the older girl whispered into his ear.

"Stay awake up there. If you get free, I'll find you with the Quaffle."

Meanwhile, Mitch had turned toward the Beaters.

"What's going on up there?" he asked. "We're gettin' the piss knocked out of us."

"Well," Freddy said, "Murph said to keep the Bludgers away from _Malfoy_. They have to follow someone."

"Those twins are a lot better than I thought they'd be," Creese commented. "The whole team is. What's the Captain's name? Conway? She's got a line of upstarts, but they're good, I'll give 'em that…"

"We've gotta find a way to get the score closer," Mitch said. "At the rate we're going, it won't matter if Malfoy catches the Snitch – we'll still lose."

"We're only down, what, sixty?" James remarked.

"And it'll get worse if we can't score any bloody goals," Mitch groaned. "And losing Oakley doesn't help matters…"

"Put me in. I'll just put a Bludger right in 'OOOOOOOHHHHHH-'wen Trembley's forehead," said Desmond McLaggen, rubbing his temple as if trying to rid himself of a headache. "If I hear that chant one more time, I swear on Merlin's sagging –"

"I'm with McLaggen on this one," Creese echoed. "It might be worth losing a Beater if we can put Trembley on his arse for a few minutes. We've got a handful on the roster –"

"No," James muttered, thinking of his father and how he wouldn't stoop to those levels. McLaggen sneered.

"'No'? Not going soft on us, are you, Potter?"

"We can beat him square," retorted James. "Without any cheap shots."

"In case you haven't noticed," Desmond argued, "the first line's mustered all of ten points against him. What makes you think – never mind, don't say anything. I know the answer. You're a Potter, so he'll just move out of the way for you."

"If he does that, you've got my blessing to blow his head off," James said through grit teeth. "He's the best Hufflepuff's got. I want to beat him square and I want Malcolm to see it."

"Blimey… _somebody's _motivated," Mitch commented. "Alright, here comes Murph. Let's go win us a match."

James clambered onto his broom, blood pounding in his ears. He hovered to starting height along with the other thirteen players. He saw a quick flash of the crimson Quaffle before it disappeared. The crowd exploded as a blur rocketed past him. Snarling, he whirled his broom around and followed. His ears were awash in the sounds of wind and cheers. He urged his broom on, trying to catch up with Auraleigh Conway, whose long hair trailed behind her like a comet as she bore down on Cole. Cole bobbed up and down in the air, hoping to match her movements. She was winding up to shoot – James wasn't going to get there in time –

"RIGHT!" he screamed as loudly as he could. He didn't know if he'd been the one that had done it, but Cole mirrored Conway's motion perfectly and caught the Quaffle she threw. Greta Stanford flew into the area and Cole dumped the Quaffle off to her. James wheeled around to go ahead of Greta, dodged an opposing Beater (was that Alexander or Andrew?) and looked over his shoulder just in time to see it. He gripped it with his hands.

"Now with the Quaffle is James Potter, folks – and yes, you heard that correctly!" he heard Evan Hatcher yell as the stadium – or at least a large portion of it – exploded. He had the Quaffle – _he had the Quaffle!_

A sharp pain pierced the small of his back.

Letting out a yell, he slumped forward, causing the broom to accelerate like an arrow. More importantly, the large, red ball slipped from his grasp and, several feet below, he saw Tammy Falstaff flying away with it. Frustrated, James rounded to give chase.

"Come on, come on!" James snarled, urging his broom to quicken its pace. He leaned as far forward as he could. Tammy reared back with her left arm, apparently to shoot. Another Hufflepuff player was coming at the Quaffle from in front of Tammy's right, as James approached from behind…

James had to barrel-roll out of the way at the last moment. Three seconds later a loud cheer went up from a portion of the stands. "SCORE! That's eighty to ten in favor of Hufflepuff!"

"Come on!" he heard Cole snarl as he pulled to a stop, and it took a second before he realized that Cole was yelling at _him._ "I can't be in two places at once! Play some defense and stop being greedy!"

"Lay off him, Cole," Greta flew in and said.

"Turn it up, guys!" Cole implored them. "This lot's good, but not as good as we're making them look."

And he flew back to his hoops. Greta turned toward James.

"Don't mind him, he can get a little intense!" she said.

"We need to score some points!" James called in response.

That didn't happen. James, Cole, and the rest struggled as the gap widened to a hundred points, then a hundred twenty, then a hundred forty…

"Is Malfoy on vacation up there?!" Cole shouted, right after another goal put through by Hufflepuff made the score a hundred sixty to ten.

"We can't put the whole game on him, Murph!" Mitch yelled, much to James's relief – he was about the only one that could talk some sense into Cole when he got like this. "We're not getting any pressure on Trembley with two Chasers hanging back the whole time. We're not gonna get by him playing one-on-one!"

Cole didn't seem to hear him, "Potter, you better get your arse in gear, hear me?! I don't care who your parents are – if you don't shape up, you won't see the field for the rest of the season!"

"Don't be daft!" Mitch snapped.

"Daft?!" snarled Cole. "I'm the Captain, damn it!"

"You're also bang out of order!" Greta yelled. Madam Hooch was approaching. Mitch caught her eye. Hooch blew her whistle.

"Time-out?" Cole looked ready to foam at the mouth. "I didn't tell you to call time-out!"

"You don't have to tell me everything, Cole, I can think for myself," Mitch answered flatly as they and the rest of the players descended to the pitch. Cole stood before the rest of the team. Even Asher Rodney and Desmond McLaggen had approached, both looking hopeful.

"I can help," murmured Desmond in a strange sing-song voice.

"Can you score goals or get to the Snitch?" asked Cole.

"Well… no, but—"

"Then you can't help," said Cole flatly. "Not right now."

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"Potter," he said, "you'll be at Seeker. Rodney –"

"That won't work," Greta said immediately, imploringly. "You know that won't work."

"No, we don't," Cole answered stubbornly. "Have we tried it?"

"Scorpius is the better Seeker," Greta said. James, who really didn't want the first game of his Quidditch career to rest sorely on how well he could play a position he didn't like much, nodded vehemently. "C'mon, Cole, all we need is one goal and for Malfoy to catch the Snitch, and the match is ours."

She gripped Cole's arm lightly. All at once, his rage seemed to switch off.

"Right," he said. "We'll go with this lineup. Keep the Quaffle away from Hufflepuff if you don't do anything else. Maybe if we're lucky, we can get out of here with a draw. Malfoy… get to the Snitch as quickly as you can – even if that means we lose the match. We can make up the points against Slytherin or Ravenclaw."

"Don't be daft, Cole, we _need_ this victory," Greta interrupted.

"We've gotta get that one goal," Mitch said. "I know Trembley's up there having the game of his life. But all we need's one goal."

"Guys?" Scorpius finally spoke up. He seemed to be looking at Creese and Freddy. "Protect the Chasers. I'll deal with the Bludgers."

"Are you thick?" Freddy asked. "You're gonna get yourself killed."

"Of course I'm not gonna get myself killed," Scorpius deadpanned. "Cracked skull's possible, but killed? Not likely. The Macks are weedy and they don't swing that hard."

Freddy seemed to be too nervous to point out that a Bludger to the head was a pretty good way to end up dead.

"Are you sure?" asked Cole. "I'd hate to lose another Seeker for the whole year."

"Just score that goal," Scorpius answered. "I'll handle the rest."

"That's great talk," Desmond sighed. "But if you were up to it, wouldn't this match be over already?"

"I've seen where the Snitch is," said Scorpius. "At least twice. Both times, if I'd have gone for it, Maddox would have gotten there first. We would have lost."

Whether or not Scorpius was bluffing, James had no idea, but it was worth it just to see Desmond go silent, looking foolish. James thought for a second about how easily that thought had come to him…

_Merlin's pants_, he thought to himself. _Are we a mess or what?_

"Back in the air, you lot," called Madam Hooch impatiently, "or I'll have to assess Hufflepuff a delay-of-game penalty."

Cole grimaced. "Can't afford that. Alright, guys, let's go."

James took to the air again with his teammates.

The Quaffle was up again. Auraleigh Conway was extremely quick – she beat Greta to the Quaffle again, but this time Gaspar Mitchell was waiting for her…

"Conway with the Quaff-_taken away! _Taken away and Mitchell has it for Gryffindor!"

James was already backing away to defend but had to adjust his flight path to chase Mitch and the Quaffle. He watched as Mitch passed it to Greta, who passed it back to Mitch. He swore as one of the Mack twins nearly took him out for the umpteenth time. They seemed to enjoy blocking, and James half wished Freddy or Creese would hit a Bludger at one of _them_. Greta had the Quaffle again and was flying toward Trembley, who looked like a cat ready to pounce – except somehow in midair. James saw an open hoop and made for it, looking for a pass.

Greta threw the Quaffle. It seemed to take forever to reach James, who was prepared to absorb any level of punishment necessary to make the catch, but was sincerely hoping that he didn't get the Demas Oakley treatment while his hands were raised over his head. James gripped onto the Quaffle. Owen Trembley had seen the move and made down toward the lower hoop. Yanking back as hard as he could, James banked upward, almost on a dime. The move had taken him upside down and he had no time to correct himself. Hanging from the ascending broom, James flung the Quaffle as hard as he could toward the first open hoop he saw…

The stadium exploded. Shadows and hands were on top of him, and for a second, he thought he was being beaten. He realized he had scored, but couldn't help thinking that this celebration was a bit… much.

Freddy swept him up from behind in a hug that almost broke his ribs.

"What's going on!?" James groaned.

"We won!" Freddy shouted. "You scored, and Malfoy caught the Snitch right after!"

"You're pulling my wand!" James managed to duck under Freddy. Indeed, the vast majority of the team was congratulating Scorpius or in the area. Students in the stands – even some of the Ravenclaws and Slytherins, who had no personal investment in the match – were beside themselves with the excitement of such a finish. James had been so lost in the moment that he had to take a chance to do the sums: Ten plus Malfoy's hundred fifty was one-sixty, plus James's own score right before the game ended…

They had come from behind to beat Hufflepuff by exactly ten points. _His_ ten points.

James was still in a daze as he and the rest of the team were ferried back to the common room, where Gryffindor House erupted into the loudest, most raucous party James had seen from them in a little bit over a full year at the school. Unfettered by noise rules or anyone's desire to take a nap, they had been obviously going strong for several minutes before James, Scorpius, or the rest of the team got there. Huge banners with the heraldic lion and the crimson-and-gold colors floated overhead unassisted. James and Scorpius in particular were _pulled_ into the common room, where a deafening explosion of noise greeted them. James hadn't fully appreciated exactly how many Gryffindors there were, but it seemed like a good half of them reached their hands out of the crowd.

"I told 'em you'd do something special!" one excited student from one of the older classes yelled toward him. "'Just watch – that great Quidditch blood will win out in the end, reserve or no!'"

"That move was _wicked_!" screamed another boy. "Trembley looked like he'd been Confunded, you fooled him so badly!"

James caught sight of Roxanne, Freddy, and Tommy Jordan, and by that point his forearms and shoulders were quite sore for a number of reasons. He had no intention of going to bed, but felt like a good, long bath would have done him some good. Roxanne had her arm around her brother when she caught James's eye.

"Well, if it isn't the man of the hour," said Roxanne. "Not bad for the guy who wasn't sure about trying out at all this summer."

"We were pretty lucky," admitted James. "We could have easily lost – by about three hundred, to boot. It's all up to Malfoy that we won… where is he, anyway?"

James looked around, knowing that it'd be nearly impossible to find him in such a thick crowd.

"Not sure. I lost him as we came in," Freddy replied. "I'm surprised no one offered to carry him into the castle on their shoulders."

"He scarpered pretty quick," Tommy said. "Strange kid, to be the hero of a Quidditch match and not stay around to receive his due. At least the rest of the team's here, though—"

Tommy went a vague green color and pulled up short.

Roxanne turned her gaze to match Tommy's. "Hey, Tommy, what's wrong—?"

She pulled up short as well and her face turned into a grimace. Several feet away, with a bit of a crowd around them, were the captain, Cole Murphy, and Greta Stanford, breaking apart from an embrace. He couldn't catch all of their conversation over the sounds of "ooh" and "aww…" (mainly the latter). But it ended with Greta receiving a quick kiss on the lips from Cole and the both of them grinning a bit goofily.

Gaspar Mitchell strode over to them, letting out a loud sigh. "Yep. About bloody time, right?"

He was smiling at James and Freddy. The latter didn't smile back. When James whirled around, he quickly figured out why; Tommy had disappeared, and Roxanne was leaving the common room to give chase.

"All the better for us," Mitch, seemingly oblivious to Tommy's reaction. "Greta's the only one he actually listens to when he goes into one of his moods… which is to say that _you, _Potter, should expect more sky time in our next match."

And he walked off, leaving James and Freddy alone.

"I'm…" Freddy frowned. "Yeah, I'll, uh… see you later,"

Freddy walked off, toward the common room exit, actively trying to evade praise and adoration from the other Gryffindors. James frowned for a moment, scanned the room fruitlessly for his brother, and then made to follow.

Freddy only noticed him when James was walking close enough to practically slip into the former's shadow.

"Oi, James, what are you doing?"

"Going to… see some friends down near the lake," James said. It hadn't been a lie – he'd just remembered that the Slytherins wanted to see him after the match either way.

"Oh…" Freddy did a double take. "Hold it a second… some friends or 'a friend'?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said James honestly.

"Oh, I think you do," replied Freddy.

James frowned. "You're not still on about that, are y-?"

"Stay quiet," Freddy implored him. "Tommy might do anything right now in his state, including take ten points from us."

Freddy peered around a corner and saw Tommy sitting on a staircase next to Roxanne. She was staring at him while he was staring blankly ahead.

"I dunno…" said Tommy. "I just thought I'd have a puncher's chance with her, you know? How the hell was I supposed to know she fancied _Cole_ of all people?"

"You say that like Cole's bad," Roxanne replied. "He's an alright guy."

"And he's Quidditch captain, which doesn't hurt," Tommy replied. "The Quidditch captain and the prefect… smart match, I guess, but I didn't peg Cole for a guy that'd go for a girl two years below him."

"Some blokes just like younger girls, I guess," Roxanne answered. "You know…"

She elbowed him semi-playfully.

"Maybe your smart match isn't in your year, either," she said. "Maybe she's a bit younger than you…?"

Tommy smiled at this. He put an arm around Roxanne in a comforting fashion, which James thought to be somewhat ironic. "Roxie… Listen. I love you. You know that. But – we're much _too _close. We've known each other since we were babies – grew up together. You're more like a sister to me. There's no way I could…"

"I'm not talking about _me_, you prat," Roxanne interrupted, yanking Tommy's arm off her. James had to resist the urge to laugh.

"Not one of your roommates, I hope?" Tommy said, looking legitimately nervous. "Those girls scare me – the lot of them."

Roxanne smiled. "Never mind. Just… this isn't the end of the world, alright?"

"…Gotcha," said Tommy, nodding weakly.

"And now that they've had their little moment, time for me to make an appearance," Freddy whispered. "Oi, Tommy!"

James slunk back behind the wall.

"I thought I heard Nina Edgerton say she thought you were handsome," he heard Freddy say. "That'd be a smart match – once her real teeth start coming in a year or two from now."

"You're an _arse_, Freddy," Roxanne replied. Tommy laughed. While he couldn't tell if Roxanne was being serious or not, James found it funny. He grinned to himself and snuck off.

**Albus**

Albus swung open the door to his room.

"Scorpius?"

He saw him immediately, lying on his four-poster bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey," Scorpius said briefly before going back to staring at nothing in particular.

Albus frowned. "You do know everyone's downstairs celebrating, right?"

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "So what are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be down there with the rest of Gryffindor?"

"Shouldn't _you_ be down there with the rest of Gryffindor?" queried Albus in response. "People are looking for you."

"Really?" asked Scorpius skeptically.

Albus was nonplussed. "I mean, you're the hero of the match, so why not?"

"Hero of the match," Scorpius scoffed. "Will anybody remember that tomorrow?"

He cast a significant glance at Albus. Just then, the door opened again.

"Rose?" Albus jumped back, trying not to yell. "What are you doing in here?! How – what – get outta here before the Prefects show up!"

Rose looked back at Albus a bit blankly. "Girls can come inside the boys' dorms. I thought you knew that."

Albus shook his head. Scorpius, meanwhile, had sat up very rigidly, and let out a groan of pain as he tried to stand.

"What's wrong?" Albus asked.

"Sore," Scorpius said, grimacing. Looking up at Rose, he smiled and said, "I know… we've got that essay from Ambrose…"

Albus frowned. Ambrose had set them two feet on why certain Potions had been outlawed by the Ministry of Magic, and Albus hadn't started it yet.

"Today's only Saturday… you can finish that tomorrow," Rose answered briskly. Scorpius's jaw slackened for a moment.

"The real Rose wouldn't say something like that," he said suspiciously.

"Oh, don't be daft," she replied very snippily. "It's awkward down there by myself. Won't just one of you come back? Please?"

Albus, not sure whether he was going to regret this, asked, "Where's Sylvia?"

"Talking about Quidditch with some fourth years or something," answered Rose grudgingly. "She can just walk up to anyone and start a conversation because she doesn't give a rat's arse about what they think of her."

She put her hands on her hips, looking pointedly away from Albus.

"She's got no shame at all."

**James**

James, walking alone, was about halfway down Gryffindor Tower when he heard a strange conversation:

"Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Of course not. It's against the rules. Y'know how many points Gryffindor would lose if I did that?"

"I swear I won't tell anybody."

"For the last time – _no_! If you want to see him that badly, I'll go back to the common room and fetch him for you."

Both of these voices sounded familiar – one small and overly energetic, the other sounding weary, with a drawl and an Irish brogue. But what would those two be doing here together? There was simply no way. James was tired from the match. Fatigue was playing tricks on his mind – he just knew it.

…Up until he rounded a corner and nearly crashed into Richard Murphy.

"Oi!" James yelled, stumbling backward. "What are you doing here?"

"I snuck out to spy on Cole and Greta," said Murphy brazenly, although at a mutter. "Dad'll want to hear every juicy detail – he'll think it's funny. He said this summer that Cole'd have a girl by the holidays, now that he was Quidditch captain… speaking of which…"

James raised his eyebrow.

"Your, uh… friend's here to see you," Murphy said, lowering his voice. "You think you could… do something about her? She wanted me to give her the password to get into the common room. I told her 'nothing doing', but she won't let up…"

"I _can_ hear you, you know." Murphy jumped horribly and whirled around. He sidestepped silently to reveal Brynne Walter, who was dressed rather awkwardly in a strange ensemble of red, gold, silver, and green. It looked like she'd tried to wear Gryffindor and Slytherin colors at the same time. The result was that she looked rather like a tiny, decorated Christmas tree. She grinned broadly. "Hello, James."

"Hi," James replied a bit awkwardly. "Uh… you couldn't have waited until I met you three at the lake?"

"Phillip and Tellius didn't come," Brynne answered airily. "Something about them having something to do, all of a sudden. And then you were late, so I just decided to come looking for you."

"Late?" James spluttered. "Never mind."

"Your flying was very splendid," she said matter-of-factly.

Murphy was sneaking away, pointing at nothing in particular. "Yeah, I think I'm just gonna…"

And he fled, leaving James alone with Brynne, which he wasn't sure was either completely a good or a bad thing. Brynne was pleasant enough, but also a bit strange – although that might have been putting it lightly.

Seeing nothing else better to do, he decided to walk. Brynne, naturally, followed him.

"It shouldn't be such a big deal for a Slytherin to go inside the Gryffindor common room, right?" she said.

"It's against the rules, though," James argued feebly.

"That's what I mean. The rules are daft," she answered quickly. It was one of only a few times James had ever heard her sound less than happy; still, there was an unmistakable quality in her voice that made it quite chipper. "I mean… it's not like Slytherins and Gryffindors are _enemies_, are they?"

James frowned. "Well… they're rivals, sort of…"

"Why's that?" she asked. "Because two old geezers had a row long before any of us were ever born? I think it's all rather silly."

They had come out onto the room of staircases. Even as he looked down, James could see a few of them moving around.

"Don't you, James?" Brynne stopped and turned to him. "Don't you think it's all silly?"

James didn't reply. He kept walking, and Brynne followed him. Suddenly, the stairs shifted under his feet –

"_Ow!_" James whirled around, nearly losing balance himself. Brynne was staggering to her feet, her hand rested against the small of her back.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Brynne answered, nonetheless wincing a bit. "We should get off the stairs before they move again."

This time, she took the lead; James descended behind her, looking up and behind himself sourly.

"How's anyone supposed to know where they're going with the staircases shifting like that?"

"Maybe we should just go in through here," Brynne answered, pointing out a door right in front of them.

"You sure we can?" asked James. "I mean… what if this corridor's forbidden or something like that?"

"I don't think so. Wouldn't Professor Flitwick or _somebody_ have said something about anywhere we weren't supposed to go? We've been here two months," Brynne commented. Then, though, an impish grin crossed her face. "But… maybe it _is_ out-of-bounds. It'd be more fun that way, don't you think?"

James weighed this remark for a moment. He was trying very hard to stay on Neville's good side. On top of that, there was always the threat that his mum would send a Howler up to the school if he got into trouble. He had to admit, though, the prospect of exploring the castle, forbidden or not, seemed too good to pass up.

"I wish I had my dad's cloak with me," he murmured to himself.

"Hm? Say something?" asked Brynne briskly.

"Er- no, nothing," lied James.

They went through an ordinary hallway that looked much like any other hallway in Hogwarts. Suits of armor stood on their plinths, firelight from torches dancing off their metallic forms. Maybe it was the light, or the furtive way he was going about things, but James could have sworn he saw at least one of the armored knights turn its head to follow him as he passed.

"So, James… you never answered my question," Brynne said a bit lightly.

"I thought it was pretty obvious," James answered, still looking around at the suits of armor. "I mean… I don't hate _you_ and you're a Slytherin. Being in a House doesn't make you good or bad."

"I wish it was that easy for everyone," Brynne said. "Slytherin's got history against us. Most of Voldemort's followers were Slytherins, weren't they? That's what Tellius says. And he'd know, too."

James remained silent. Tellius seemed a bit odd to James, to be completely honest. He was almost as odd as Brynne herself – and that was saying quite a lot.

"He's very clever, Tellius is," Brynne said matter-of-factly. "I almost wonder if he should've been in Ravenclaw instead. He studies the wars in his spare time."

James understood by context that 'the wars' were the two conflicts against Voldemort. James wasn't surprised – Tellius had come off as very clever and very knowledgeable about the wars from the moment James had met him. For James's part, though, he could think of a lot of things he would much rather do with his free time than read more books.

"—but I thought you said you had _improved_ since last year."

James and Brynne looked at each other. She looked only mildly perturbed. As seldom as she made that expression, it might as well have been one of extreme panic. She had apparently heard the voice, too – they crept down the hallway for a while, looking furtively about themselves, until James saw a strangely placed ray of light several paces ahead. He pointed at it. Brynne put her finger to her lips, wordlessly imploring silence. James didn't need telling twice; he already had the feeling that they had stumbled upon something they weren't meant to hear. The ray of light turned out to be coming from a cracked door. From a brief peek in, James could see that it was (or at least, had once been) a classroom.

"Sir, I _have_ – it's just that…"

"Your performance was nothing short of _appalling_. The responsibility for that _debacle_ rests sorely on your shoulders – yes, _yours_, Mr. Maddox. Don't give me that look," the voice said imperiously and with more than a hint of condescension. It was this tone that caused James to recognize it –

"That's Malcolm!" he said in a stage whisper to Brynne, who stared back at him with her overlarge, blue eyes. "Malcolm, the Defence –"

"What's he doing here?" interrupted Brynne.

"Never mind that – let's hide!" James said, his own panic level now rising a bit. He hated to think what Malcolm would do in this mood if he found James and Brynne – James in particular – eavesdropping on a conversation that was clearly meant to remain private. He and Brynne went behind the closest suit of armor. Much to his embarrassment, Brynne was so close to him he could hear every breath she took. He tried not to look directly at her face.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?" Malcolm's voice asked.

"…No, sir," another voice – clearly that of a male student – answered.

"... 'No, sir', you say," Malcolm's voice went quieter than normal. James couldn't help but grimace. He'd had enough run-ins with Malcolm to know that he was dangerously angry. " 'No, sir'. Do you think that's the answer I'm looking for? I stand before you and savage your obvious ineptitude on the Quidditch pitch, and all you have to offer me is a 'no, sir'? It's not lack of talent that's the problem. Your issue is very simple, Mr. Maddox. It's the same issue that's plagued our House for centuries now. _You're too soft._"

James was astounded. He'd only ever heard Malcolm be decent to members of his own House. The way he tended to favor them in class was just subtle enough so that no one had any concrete evidence to call him on it.

"Hufflepuff House, Mr. Maddox," Malcolm said, now sounding more and more like the austere but effective Defence Against the Dark Arts professor most students would recognize, "has for centuries been known as the House that values loyalty, work ethic and persistence. That reputation's our greatest strength, yet our greatest weakness. Do you know why?"

"…No, sir," Maddox's voice answered tremulously.

"In layman's terms – terms I'm sure even you can understand – Hufflepuffs have the reputation for being the 'good soldiers'," Malcolm said very disdainfully. "We're naturals at keeping our head down and following. That's what the rest of the wizarding world thinks of us. The other three Houses, on the other hand… their stars have shone much brighter on the night sky of history – even Slytherin, with its checkered reputation. Slytherin House has turned out wizards who have done great things in history, not the least of which was the man known as Lord Voldemort."

He heard Maddox squeak very quietly, a bit like a mouse being trodden on. James and his relatives had absolutely no fear of saying Lord Voldemort's name anymore. He'd heard it said, though, that some people were still quite uncomfortable with it, and it would follow that they probably passed this fear (an irrational one, in James's estimation) down to their children.

"Don't be such a coward," snapped Malcolm, sounding superbly disdainful. "The man's not much more than bones now, but that's beside the point. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, if you so prefer, _did _do great things. Terrible, yes… but _great_. For better or worse, his name is one of those inextricably linked with Slytherin House, along with Merlin himself – yes, _that _Merlin, the same Merlin by whose beard you've probably sworn a fair few times. Then you've got the Ravenclaws. The fact that they're known for their wit and intelligence is honor enough, but considering that our own Headmaster was once a part of Ravenclaw… and then…"

A second or two of silence.

"Then you have Gryffindor – the wizarding world's 'white knights'," Malcolm scoffed. Sarcasm dripped like a heavy syrup from each one of his words. "Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter, even less popular elements like the _Gladius Leo_ sect… if an outsider read our history accounts these last few years, they'd be under the impression Gryffindor's the only house that ever existed at Hogwarts. But where's Hufflepuff in the wizarding world's history? I'll tell you – we're naught more than common rank-and-file footmen because our House is thought to lack the talent and the initiative to lead. I was under the impression that you… came under my tutelage to help me to change that. Needless to say, you and the rest of the team failed – and spectacularly, I might add. You lot managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory – just what people have come to expect from us."

James heard Malcolm go silent.

"We're known as the 'house of hard work and diligence.' I'm not so much troubled by that title as by what it implies – that our hard work is meant to compensate for a lack of talent or ability." he went on. "I expected you to help prove those people wrong, and I still do. But _I will only say this once_: if you're too weak to take what belongs to you, I will convince Miss Conway to find someone who can."

"They're coming this way!" whispered Brynne, as she and James squeezed closer to the wall. James heard the footfalls of professor and student growing louder, coming closer. The corridor brightened as the light from inside the classroom spilled outside. James stayed as still as the statue in front of him, hoping against hope that Malcolm did not notice their presence.

"Sir…?" Maddox asked. "If I may ask, when's our next… lesson?"

"Tomorrow morning, actually," Malcolm answered. "Tell the usual crowd. The team, our trusted Prefects… and the others. Mr. Beal, Mr. Corbin… Miss Cross, too, of course."

Their conversation faded into the distance.

Mercifully, Brynne stopped pinning James against the wall and scampered out into the middle of the hallway. She turned to him.

"Coast is clear – come on!"

James emerged from behind the suit of armor. Malcolm and Maddox were indeed gone. Their words, though, reverberated around the corridors of James' brain, almost as if they had left an echo behind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: The Clandestine**

"Sorry, James, can't do that."

"Wh-what do you mean, you 'can't do that?'"

Freddy Weasley shook his head. James frowned. Late evening had fallen upon the common room. The celebration from Gryffindor's victory over Hufflepuff earlier that afternoon had long since burned itself out. Now, only a few people remained for the time being. Dinner was soon, and many of the students had already gone. Freddy Weasley was one of the few that stayed behind – and, good thing, too, because he'd been the second person James meant to find after Murphy.

"I know you don't really understand this yet," Freddy said in an almost maddeningly patronizing tone, "but… well, good relationships are much more than a bloke and a girl getting together and snogging – although that is one of the perks…"

He grinned wryly. Murphy sniggered. James rolled his eyes.

"I don't… really… care much about what you and Laurel get up to when you're alone together," he said with a shudder.

"You will," chuckled Freddy. "I give it a few weeks before you're asking for my advice, given your situation."

"Situation?" repeated James, raising his eyebrows.

"Brynne Walter?" uttered Freddy, mirroring James's facial expression. He fumed.

"Brynne and I aren't – don't have – a 'situation'," he deadpanned, making air quotes to emphasize his sarcasm.

Freddy leaned back on the couch, stroking his chin. "Let's see… alone together, sneaking off to secluded parts of the castle, snuggling up together behind suits of armor—"

"_Merlin's pants!_" groaned James. "We were not… snuggling. We were _hiding_."

Freddy threw up one hand. "Semantics," he said. "In any case, they all sound like common symptoms of a – er … 'situation.'"

"That's not the point, though," James replied, kneading the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "The point is what we found. I heard Malcolm mention Laurel's name – and he mentioned a lot of other things while chewing out Jason Maddox for not having enough Hufflepuff pride. I was just wondering if you knew anything about these meetings – if she let anything slip…"

"And _I'm_ telling you that, even if she said anything to me, it's a secret between the two of us," said Freddy, his face now serious. Then, though, he smiled and put a hand on James's shoulder. "Relax. They're probably meeting with him for some sort of Remedial Defence class or something. Well… time to go fill my belly."

He jumped to his feet and departed.

"Freddy has a point, you know," commented Murphy – the last thing James wanted to hear. "What if it's just extra tutoring?"

James glared at Murphy. "You wouldn't know – you weren't there. What I heard was Malcolm preaching to Jason Maddox about how Hufflepuff House isn't any less than any of the other Houses of Hogwarts, and how Gryffindor's had the spotlight for much too long…"

"Everybody in Hogwarts knows he leans toward Hufflepuff," sighed Murphy. "That's not new. I mean – bloody hell. He's Hufflepuff's Head of House, J.P. What's he supposed to do but parrot the party line? All the Heads of House champion their own House to some degree or another."

"Yeah, but you don't hear Neville or Gladstone telling people about how they think the other Houses need to come down a peg," James retorted.

Murphy sighed and stood up.

"Why don't we go down to eat, mate?"

James grudgingly agreed – but that didn't mean the conversation was over.

"You didn't hear him, Murph," he went on as they descended Gryffindor Tower. "He looks up to _Voldemort_."

Murphy gave him a look of incredulity. "Surely he didn't mean that like…"

"I mean… he admires the mark Voldemort left on history," James corrected himself. "But, still… to say something like that when so many of us have parents or relatives that fought or died in the war…"

"It was in poor taste, I'll give you that," Murphy conceded.

"…And who in the _hell_ were the _Gladius Leo_?" James murmured. Murphy's jaw dropped.

"What? I thought you of all people would have heard of _Gladius Leo_," he said. "Your dad was the one that took them down."

"Dad doesn't talk about his work much when he's at home," James explained. "Mum doesn't like it."

"…Still, though…" Murphy said. "Maybe you're making too much of this, mate. You sure it's not… you know…?"

James glanced askance at Murphy. "What do you mean, Murph? Speak up."

Murphy shook his head. "Never mind. Now…"

A wry smile crossed his face.

"Tell me what _really _happened with you and Brynne Walter."

James rolled his eyes. "Come off it already."

"You're wearing a smile on your face," Murphy replied.

"Am not," James answered, trying to affect his most serious expression.

Murphy scoffed. "No, but really – what's she like?"

"Well…" James uttered uncomfortably. "She's… odd. People think she's mad, but she's not really. Just… odd."

"I won't argue that point with you, she _is_ odd," Murphy agreed.

"But not a _bad_ 'odd'," James answered very quickly. "Just odd."

"You've said that," Murphy advised him. "About three times, mind."

"Well, can we come off it or what?" James asked. "Like I said, this is beside the point."

"Not for me," Murphy said relentlessly. "I simply want to know if she tickles your fancy."

"Wh- of course not," stammered James. "And in any case, a 'fancy' isn't something you 'tickle.'"

The two boys looked at each other for a second.

"You just had dirty thoughts, didn't you?" James asked flatly.

"Slightly," acknowledged Murphy with a lopsided grin.

**Albus**

Meanwhile, just about all was right in the world of the other Potter brother.

…Just about.

"Honestly, Rosie… it's not that bad," he said to his cousin, who was in the Great Hall with them for dinner. Instead of eating, though, she appeared to be trying to stave off a full-on meltdown.

"Not that bad?" Rose repeated in a voice much higher than usual. "Mum's gonna _murder _me, Al! Don't you understand that?"

"You really think so?" asked Scorpius, a bit quietly. "Your mum must take a mad line about stuff like this…"

"But of course she's _exaggerating_," Sylvia said from the other side of the table, rolling her eyes. Albus tried, too late, to communicate wordlessly with Sylvia in order to tell her to _shut up_. But it was far too late. Rose stared across the table at Sylvia, her eyes wide.

"Well, I suppose your parents could care less if you got good marks or not!" she snapped wildly. Sylvia sat stoically, staring across the table back at her.

"Rose, really. Shut up. You got a bloody 'E' on a paper," Sylvia said, her eyes as flat as her deadpan voice. "E's a pretty good mark."

Albus actually agreed with her. He wasn't about to vocalize this, though.

Rose shook her head and stood. "I'm going to the library."

And she whisked away. Sylvia frowned.

"People are going to hate her if she keeps on like that," she said.

"She idolizes Aunt Hermione," sighed Albus. "Always worried she won't be as clever as her mum."

He felt a pang of sympathy for Rose. She'd always been somewhat emotional, but this first term at Hogwarts had wrought a change in her that wasn't all good.

"Has she always been this…" Scorpius started to ask.

"…Mental?" Sylvia finished, sounding hopeful.

"She's _not_ mental." For the first time in a fair while, Albus was genuinely angry at Sylvia. "She's just… Rose."

Sylvia didn't back down. "Look, I know she's your cousin and all… she might be 'just Rose' to you, but to everyone else, she looks mental."

"So we should just have her shipped off to St. Mungo's or something?" asked Albus hotly.

Sylvia made a disapproving face. "I'm not saying that. It's not _you_. She just needs to ease up and get that wand out of her ar-"

"_Sylvia_," Scorpius interrupted, and he had a look in his eyes frighteningly similar to the one he had when Albus had told him about Vaisey (who still hadn't been allowed back into Gryffindor). "Stop it. You're starting to sound like Liz O'Connell."

"I'm nothing like Liz," snapped Sylvia, suddenly sounding offended. "I would have the guts to say this all to Rose's face. Except, in case you haven't noticed, _she doesn't bloody listen to me_. So maybe _you _should tell her."

She was staring right at Scorpius, whose face contorted pensively.

"And what makes you think I'd have any more luck?" he asked. Sylvia's jaw dropped for a moment. She seemed to be (for once) at a loss for words.

"God, you're thick," she answered suddenly, jumping up to her feet and walking away, leaving her half-eaten plate of dinner on the table. It promptly disappeared in a cluster of sparkles.

"I'm starting to think _all_ girls are mental," Scorpius commented.

Again, Albus inwardly agreed. "So… when's Cole going to have you guys practicing again?"

(For three days had passed since Gryffindor's come-from-behind Quidditch win over Hufflepuff House.)

"Next week, he says," Scorpius answered, seemingly glad to get the conversation onto Quidditch and off their dysfunctional female friends.

"A _week_? Cole gave you guys a _week_?" Albus uttered incredulously. From his impression of Cole Murphy (formed partly by what Scorpius and James had told him), he was something of a slave driver.

"We were surprised, too," Scorpius laughed. "But Greta convinced him somehow…"

Albus pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Wonder how she managed to do that…?"

"Not sure," admitted Scorpius. Then, darkly, he added, "And I'm actually not sure I want to know, either. She and Cole are… you know, 'dating' now."

He made a bit of a sour face.

"I wonder what the big deal is about that…" he wondered at a mutter. "Freddy had a row about something with Laurel Cross…"

"Huh?" uttered Albus, who hadn't seen Freddy at length since the match. "Well… Laurel was probably sore because you lot beat her team. She's from Hufflepuff, you know."

Scorpius conceded this fact with a nod and then gave a sigh. "…Full yet?"

"Yeah," Albus admitted, letting his fork fall to his almost-empty plate with a loud clatter.

"Common room?"

"Might as well."

So the two boys departed from the Great Hall. Dozens of students were already wandering the outdoor hallways.

"I wonder where Sylvia got off to?" mused Albus.

"No idea. Maybe to go fetch Rose from the library," Scorpius guessed. "I imagine that'd go over really well –"

Scorpius pulled up short, his face going white – well, _whiter_. Albus searched the hallway for what had caused the reaction. It didn't take him long to glimpse a pair of boys – both quite conspicuous on the large staircase leading up to Hogwarts' infamous stairwell. One of them appeared to be an older student from Hufflepuff House, judging by the yellow tie. The other, tie-less and looking quite sour, was none other than Stephan Vaisey. He seemed to sense that he was being watched, as he and the Hufflepuff boy turned toward Albus and Scorpius. The latter looked almost sick with rage. Vaisey's lip curled.

"Feeling hard enough to try something right here in this hallway, Malfoy?!" he said very loudly. "Go on – do it, I dare you!"

Albus grimaced. "Scorpius, wait!"

But the boy wizard was already off; he stormed across the hallway, drawing his wand. Vaisey made to draw his own wand, but the Hufflepuff boy – a tall, lean sort – was already in front of him. Other students scattered, sensing danger.

"Don't take another step!" the Hufflepuff boy warned.

Scorpius seemed to reconsider, faced with this new threat. He backed down a step, still livid.

"What's the matter, Vaisey!?" he shouted. "Still too much of a coward to face me?"

There was a pause – then Vaisey tried to make his way around the older Hufflepuff, who looked to be trying to hold him back.

"Come on, then!" snarled Scorpius.

"Scorpius, stop baiting him," Albus tried to warn – but his friend was already beyond reason.

"A _real_ Gryffindor would have done it, right!?" Scorpius shouted. "Why don't you set things right!? Put me down! Unless you don't have the –"

Vaisey made to charge again – the Hufflepuff boy held him back a second time, only for Vaisey to scream, "_NO, _MORRIS!" and wrest himself free. He descended the staircase very quickly. Albus found himself shoved away as Scorpius readied himself for a fight. Suddenly, Vaisey jumped backward; a couple of spectators yelled out as white-hot sparks exploded from the floor right in front of Vaisey's feet.

"Piss off – or I'll put one in your earhole next!" another boy snarled. Albus looked up across the hall, hearing the familiar voice. Standing across the hall, wand drawn, wild-haired and wild-eyed, was his brother, James. Standing next to James was Murphy, who seemed half resolute, half resigned.

"I'd do what he says if I were you, mate," Murphy said lazily. Vaisey regarded them both with mild interest.

"I have no quarrel with either of you," he said a bit dismissively.

"Really?" James tilted his head. "You hit my brother – so I'd say we have a little bit of a quarrel."

"James…" Murphy intoned warningly.

James seemed to contemplate it for a moment, but only a brief one. He raised his wand—

"_Brachium Ex—"_

"What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?"

Albus's heart sank like a stone. He recognized that voice. Sure enough, a second or two later, Professor C. B. Malcolm strode into the fray. He pulled up short.

"Hello, Professor," the boy called Morris said sycophantically. "Vaisey and I were just minding our business when these Gryffindors showed up looking for a fight. Typical Gryffindor behavior, don't you agree?"

"Yes, I agree wholeheartedly, Mr. Beal," Malcolm answered. Turning his eyes upon James and Murphy, he gave a chuckle and said, "Mr. Potter – Gryffindor's golden prince. Why am I not surprised? And I see you've brought your brother and young Mr. Malfoy with you. Yes, I thought this would happen. One… lucky moment of Quidditch heroism, and your little head swells even larger than it had already."

"Nice to see you too, Professor," James responded simply, but through his teeth. "I was just having a friendly little chat with Stephan Vaisey about what happens to people that put their hands on my little brother."

"Noble as that sounds," Malcolm replied icily, "it would be in everyone's best interest, I think, if you – and Mr. Malfoy as well – save those 'friendly chats' for your own common room. That's primarily what goes on there, correct? Merrymaking and the occasional duel, a bit like a mead hall in the Dark Ages?"

Beal laughed nastily. James couldn't help but snigger as well. Murphy looked at him reprovingly.

"Do I look amused, Mr. Potter?" asked Malcolm, his mouth set in a firm line.

"No, sir," James replied. "I just think it's funny that you're pretending to be an expert on Gryffindor House."

Malcolm's lip quivered, then curled into that wholly unfriendly smile that Albus had seen from him on a couple of occasions. "Well, while we're on the subject of 'pretending', I suppose you and Mr. Malfoy can 'pretend' to be great Quidditch players while you're serving detention with me during your next match."

"What!?" exclaimed Scorpius.

"I shall suggest this discipline to Professor Flitwick immediately," Malcolm said, turning on his heel. Scorpius looked to be in shock.

"Flitwick might be old, but he's not an idiot!" Murphy exclaimed suddenly. "Giving detention to the two players that _beat you_ during this weekend's match? Really? You should at least _try _to look like you're playing fair. Isn't that what makes Hufflepuff so great?"

Malcolm stopped. Albus swallowed hard. This couldn't end well.

"Don't – _ever – _lecture me about what makes Hufflepuff 'great'," snarled Malcolm, his eyes flashing. "But… I suppose, even fools make valid points every once in a while. It'll be twenty-five points each from Potter and Malfoy – that's the worst I can do on my own for a student in another House, after all."

He took a few steps away. Albus had never thought of a situation where Gryffindor losing fifty points could be seen as a relief, but here it was. Malcolm stopped.

"And since you felt the need to cheek me, Mr. Murphy, I'll have twenty-five points from you, too," Malcolm said. "Oh, and Mr. Beal? Seeing as you were obviously trying to put an end to the whole affair, I'll assess you ten points for outsanding moral fiber."

"Thank you, sir," Beal said, punctuating his comment with a very smarmy and unnecessary bow – and with that, Malcolm whisked away.

"James, you _idiot_!" Albus snapped on his brother as the four boys went back to the common room together. "Don't you ever think about what you're doing!?"

"I thought I was saving your arse," James said.

"What, you think I couldn't handle Vaisey?" Scorpius asked, sounding insulted.

"Vaisey's no problem," replied James. "It's that Beal bloke I was worried about. Trust me, you don't want any part of that guy."

"That's not what I meant," Albus replied. "We just lost our house about a hundred points in one go."

James stopped dead. "You need work on your sums, little brother. It was _seventy-__five_ points we lost. Besides… you gotta know by now that there's no way Gryffindor wins the House Cup this year…"

"Well, there certainly isn't now," said Albus sourly. Gryffindor had won the House Championship about five times when his parents were at the school. He'd been looking forward to that.

"Malcolm's off the rails," said James, shaking his head. "He's got it in for Gryffindor as much as the rules will let him get away with."

"Well, those rules were made for people like him. McGonagall _was_ gonna take away the power of House heads to dock points from other Houses' students outright before last year…" explained Murphy.

"Yeah, but then Malcolm and Flitwick both griped about it," James added. "Said the House heads would have less authority than a normal Professor. So McGonagall met them halfway."

"I still don't quite know what's going on, though," Albus said. "Why are you trying to pick a fight with Malcolm? You know Mum wouldn't like this…"

"Well, that's exactly why you're not gonna tell her, isn't it, Al?" James said through grit teeth.

Albus frowned. Their parents probably didn't know most details of what happened when they were within Hogwarts walls, and Albus was beginning to think that it was perhaps for the best.

"So, who's this Morris Beal bloke and why are you so scared of him?" asked Albus casually.

"I'm _not _scared of him! I'd duel him in a heartbeat if he ever picked a fight with me directly," James snapped hotly. Murphy grimaced.

"It's just… he's N.E.W.T. level in Defence, that guy. If a first year like you tried to duel him, he'd jinx your bum to where your forehead _used_ to be."

Albus rolled his eyes. "And I'm sure a second year would do _so _much better."

"Well, I'd at least avoid wearing my arse like a hat," reasoned James. Murphy sniggered.

"What I want to know is," Albus said darkly, "what this Beal guy had to do with Vaisey."

"That's a really good question," James said. Albus huffed.

"This is stupid. That's what it is," he groused. "I should be thinking more about how I'm going to get my Transfiguration mark up than who in Hogwarts wants to hex me on sight."

"You're probably right about that," James said, much to Albus's surprise. "So… I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

"What?" uttered Albus flatly.

"You heard me," replied James, this time sounding much more firm. "Don't worry about Beal or Vaisey – or even bloody Malcolm, for that matter. Just keep your nose down. And that goes _double _for you, Scorpius."

"What?" echoed Scorpius. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know bloody well what I mean," James said, now sounding irritated as he whirled around on the stairs. "You're Gryffindor's Seeker, and the only good one on the team, at that. We can't afford to have you get booted off for picking a fight with a sod like Vaisey. He's not worth us losing the cup."

Scorpius studied James for a moment.

"You're probably right," he admitted. Grimacing toward Albus, he suggested, "Hey… should we go see if Rose is in the library?"

Albus frowned. "You couldn't have said that before we were halfway up to Gryffindor Tower? …Sure, I guess…"

And they turned around and began descending the stairs.

**James**

James watched as his brother and Scorpius departed, staying silent until they were well out of earshot.

"Didn't have you pegged for the advice-spouting big brother," Murphy chuckled. "I thought you were more the pranking type…"

"I don't want Al involved," James said seriously.

"Involved?" repeated Murphy. "With what?"

"With what I've been trying to tell you for the last several _days_, Murph," James replied. "Why do you think I know so much about Beal? I've been doing some digging, remember? Beal was one of the names – one of the guys Malcolm mentioned."

"Okay, so maybe Malcolm plays favorites," conceded Murphy. "And maybe he's got some special group full of his favorites. But _professors have done that kind of stuff before_, J.P. My grandmother was at Hogwarts years and years ago. Old bloke named Slughorn taught Potions here in her time. He didn't even try to hide the fact that there were some students he liked better than others. He'd have special little banquets for them every so often."

James took a deep breath. "…Didn't sound like they were planning a banquet to me."

"You really want Malcolm to be doing something wrong, don't you?" Murphy asked, folding his arms. "I mean… he's sort of a git, so there's no shame in admitting it. But unless you could prove that there's some sort of Dark magic involved, there's really no point… and even if you _could_, you'd just be in way over your head. You couldn't beat Malcolm in a face-up duel, if it came to that. Heck, there probably aren't a lot of people at Hogwarts who could."

"Neville could take him," James said immediately.

"Why don't you talk to him?" asked Murphy seriously. "I mean… he's a friend of your family and all, right?"

James contemplated it for a moment, then shook his head.

"I need more _proof_," he said, looking away. "More details. And I think I know exactly how to get them."

Murphy gazed curiously at James, who was now wearing a smirk.

"Unity weekend's coming up."

**Albus**

As he and Scorpius entered the library, the first thing that they noticed was how crowded it was. Whispers from its young patrons meshed into a chorus of hissing that made Albus feel like he was standing in a stiff breeze.

"Oy… this'll be like trying to spot a whitebramble in a bunch of pinecones," groaned Scorpius in a whisper. "How are we supposed to find Rose in all these people?"

"I usually just look for the hair first," said Albus seriously.

"Good point," Scorpius replied, his gray eyes darting from table to table in search of the distinctive auburn mane. "But what if she's left…?"

"Then we'll just go back up to the common room until she shows up again," Albus answered. "Which we probably should have done right off, but…"

"She didn't seem a little bit… tweaked to you?" asked Scorpius.

"You mean, more than usual?" muttered Albus in response. "I mean… sure, but it normally blows over…"

A fast-moving form shouldered Albus, who stumbled into Scorpius.

"Watch it!" Scorpius grunted, whirling around and looking into the face of a tall, thin boy. Albus studied the other boy's face. He was a first year – Albus recognized him from the Sorting. He was also a Slytherin. Except, Albus couldn't remember for the life of him what this boy's name was…

"Nott?" uttered Scorpius, sounding a bit surprised.

"Scorpius – thought I recognized you," Tellius Nott answered, seemingly trying to hold a conversation with Scorpius and look elsewhere at the same time. "How're classes treating you?"

"All right, I guess," Scorpius answered. "And yours?"

"Not too bad," Tellius Nott said, before turning toward Albus. "Albus Potter? Harry's son, James's brother?"

He'd asked all this rather quickly, which unnerved Albus a tiny bit. "That's me."

"You spoken to James recently?" asked Tellius, again talking as if he were in a terrible hurry.

"Y-yeah," answered Albus nervously. "Just talked to him a few minutes ago."

"If you see him again, anytime soon, tell him Nott's looking for word from him about U.W.," Tellius answered in a very businesslike manner. Grimacing, he added, "And tell him to get a move on. Brynne's getting very impatient."

"Brynne? Who's Brynne?" asked Albus.

"Mutual friend," said Tellius quickly. "I've gotta be off…"

And he whisked away.

"Wha…" uttered Albus. Scorpius let out a chuckle and folded his arms.

"Nott hasn't changed a bit."

"You know him?" asked Albus. Then, feeling this was a rather obvious question, he amended it: "I mean… you knew him? Before Hogwarts?"

Scorpius nodded. "Our fathers are friends… sort of. They were here at Hogwarts together. Same year, too. Of course, the Notts are the only ones my dad keeps up with at all – and that was only after Mum forced him to."

Albus thought it wise not to press this subject further. "Anyway, what's U.W.?"

"No idea," said Scorpius. Further through the bookshelves they traveled. Albus had always thought the design of this place was terribly cramped for a library meant to service hundreds of students. He knew there were a lot of books, but he thought it was a bit ridiculous that in most aisles two people couldn't stand shoulder to shoulder.

Eventually, they happened upon a table at the other end of the library. The most unlikely pair were studying together – or at least studying near each other. On one side of the table, her hair seemingly bushier than ever in her frazzled state, was Rose. On the other side sat a boy with messy, brown hair.

"Rowan?" asked Scorpius. Rose let out a squeak, then another one as she doubled over and pressed her forehead to the table's surface. She'd given a horrible start and banged her knee against the table's underside. Albus winced. Rowan, on the other hand, looked up very calmly from what Albus was reasonably sure was their History of Magic textbook.

"Hey," he whispered briskly, "did you know that there are some branches of magic that are banned by the Ministry of Magic for being too—"

"Everybody knows that, Rowan," Albus interrupted, ready to head Rowan off at the pass.

"I was just showing Rose about their particulars," Rowan said, looking across the table. Rose did _not_ look happy. "You two should sit down… Binns could quiz us on them any day now."

Albus looked at a frowning Scorpius, but both decided to join the others at the table, hoping the way Rowan 'taught' History of Magic was a bit more interesting than the way Professor Binns did it. (This wouldn't have taken much.)

"Do you remember one of them, Scorpius?" asked Rowan.

"I know, erm… Necromancy," he murmured uncertainly. Rose looked up and beamed. "Yeah, Necromancy's a big one."

Albus hadn't remembered. "Necromancy?"

"Use of magic on dead people..." said Rowan very matter-of-factly.

"What could magic do to someone that's already dead?" asked Scorpius. Rowan shuddered.

"I wondered that, too. I looked some of it up and, trust me, you _don't_ want to know," he said, shaking his head. "Most stuff about that's in the Restricted Section, but even the stuff that's in these regular books… dodgy, dark, nasty stuff. There's also the regulation on Vanishing spells… and also Elemancy's highly regulated."

"What's Elemancy?" asked Scorpius.

"Elemental magic," Rose said, "And, actually, it's more complicated than that. Some spells are forbidden outright – but you can't use Elemancy _on _another witch or wizard. So, conjure some flames to keep warm in the winter, you're alright. Use those same flames to set fire to another wizard, and you'll end up with Aurors coming after you."

"Aurors… they're sort of like policemen in the Muggle world, right?" asked Rowan, looking directly at Albus.

"What's a policeman?" asked Scorpius, frowning.

"You've never heard of a policeman? Your family must not know any Muggles," Rowan answered.

"My family doesn't know many _wizards_," deadpanned Scorpius.

"Anyway… in the Muggle world, their job is to find and arrest criminals," Rowan replied. Turning to Albus, he asked again, "And that's sort of what Aurors do for wizards, right?"

If his dad was here, he would have said that was simplifying things a bit too much; that's what Albus thought. Still, though, he didn't have a better explanation himself, so he answered, "Something like that."

"But back to this elemental magic thing…" Scorpius started.

"Never mind that," Albus interrupted, suddenly realizing something. "Do either of you know what a U.W. is?"

"U.W…?" repeated Rose, looking up at Rowan.

"Not the slightest," Rowan answered. With a bit of a self-deprecating laugh, he said, "If it's not History of Magic, chances are I don't remember it."

Hoping that the context would help, Albus explained to Rowan about Tellius Nott and his brother, James.

"I didn't even know James _had_ friends in Slytherin," Rose remarked. "I'd always thought he was a bit leery of the lot."

"That's just it – he _was_," mused Albus. "But something must have happened when he was down there. It's all complicated. James knows people in Slytherin… Vaisey's mixing with Hufflepuffs…"

"Is that where they sent him?" Rowan asked, curious about his former friend. "Hufflepuff?"

"I don't know… but we ran into him a few hours ago and he had this tall Hufflepuff bloke hanging around, like he was a bodyguard or something…" Albus said, grimacing. "Oh, and don't forget – Freddy's girlfriend is a Hufflepuff, too…"

"Is it such a bad thing?" asked Rose.

"Of course Vaisey's bad news," retorted Scorpius.

"Not just Vaisey – I mean… in general," Rose answered. "The Houses are mixing together. That's not such a bad thing, is it? It wasn't like that when our parents were in school."

Albus frowned. "Maybe I'll ask Tommy later tonight. Sure hope it's nothing against the rules…"

"U.W.? You mean Unity weekend?" Tommy answered a few hours later when Albus, Rose, and Scorpius approached him with the question.

"Unity weekend?" repeated Scorpius.

"Oh, yeah – this'll be your first one, right? It's something new Hogwarts started a couple of years ago," Tommy explained, midway through hanging up something on the house common room's bulletin board. He plastered the paper to the board, muttered some sort of incantation, and the paper stuck there so well it might as well have been melded into the wood. "It used to be called Hogsmeade weekend, but now it doesn't just involve going to Hogsmeade. Well, the older students – third years and up, I mean – still go, but now they've added a lot of stuff to it."

"Like what?" asked Albus.

"Well, like the fact that you're not allowed to wear your House tie with your uniform on that Friday," explained Tommy, teetering on a stepladder (Albus had to lean back to avoid his free-swinging dreadlocks). "And they really mean that. I've heard of people getting a couple of points docked for doing it… which is ironic, if you think about it… but some of the Professors take it _that_ seriously."

"Is that all? Nobody wears house ties?" asked Rose.

"Nope. The common rooms are open to all students, too," Tommy added.

"So, if you're a Gryffindor and you wanted to, say, visit someone in Ravenclaw…" Rose surmised.

"…Just walk down to the common room," Tommy answered simply, finally coming down off the stepladder. "And, if you sign a list – that list, actually…"

He pointed over his shoulder and with his thumb at the parchment he'd just put up onto the bulletin board. Meanwhile, the now unmanned stepladder slid along the wall of its own accord and to a nearby closet, which opened on cue to accept it.

"You can stay Friday or Saturday night in one of the other dorms," finished Tommy. "Same gender, of course. Hogwarts hasn't gotten _that _progressive yet."

He let off a wry chuckle.

"Anyway, the whole object is to encourage us to get to know students from outside our own House," Tommy said.

"Well… have there been any problems?" asked Rose. "I mean… fights and things like that? People going to other Houses just to start trouble?"

Tommy sighed loudly, almost as if he wasn't thrilled about the idea. "That's what they have us for, isn't it? See you guys around."

He walked right by a table, where a blonde girl carrying a book crossed his path.

" 'Scume," Tommy murmured. The girl looked up with a wide-eyed start, and it was then that both Albus and Tommy saw her face. "Oh. Alright there, Dominique?"

"Finetommyhowareyou?" she squeaked very quickly, her eyes darting around and looking everywhere but the Prefect's face.

"Busy," murmured Tommy. "Stay out of trouble."

And he walked away, patting Dominique's shoulder as he went. The girl went stiff as a board. Tommy didn't seem to notice. Dominique whirled on the spot, then caught sight of Albus and the others. She gave an uncharacteristic, mouse-like squeak and then darted out of sight.

"Oh," Rose uttered, looking from where Dominique had been standing to where Tommy had gone. "_Ohhhhh…"_

Albus blinked and then looked at Rose. "Did I miss something?"

Rose turned back to Albus, her jaw slightly unhinged. "Are you really that thick?"

"Hey – I'm not thick," Albus retorted sourly. "You just catch things that other people don't."

"Thanks for the compliment…? I guess?" replied Rose uncertainly. "It's pretty obvious, though, isn't it?"

"What's obvious?" asked Albus. He'd hardly gotten the question out before Rose threw up her hands and started to stomp away.

"Mum's right – boys are all alike," he heard her huff to herself.

Albus turned to Scorpius, who raised his eyebrows in an expression of mixed smugness and resignation.

"Nope. Don't ask me."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: The Meeting of Colours**

**James**

The steady march of November turned the air cold as the month reached its midpoint. On this particular Friday, Hogwarts students awoke to find the grounds lightly powdered from a snow shower that had passed through overnight.

As could be expected, the cold was keeping most students inside. After all, there would be plenty of time for the outdoors later. Unity weekend was coming up. James, as it turned out, had not signed the parchment to stay over in another House's dormitory. All of his new friends from Slytherin were coming to him – which was just as well, James thought. He didn't mind Slytherins so much now, but he still hated their dungeon and common room.

Speaking of Slytherin, they were still reeling from the stinging Quidditch defeat handed to them by Ravenclaw House the previous weekend. Ravenclaw had beaten Slytherin so soundly that Gryffindor would have to win handily indeed when the two teams met later in the season to have a chance at the Cup.

For what it was worth, though, Phillip Bletchley had enjoyed a decent individual showing in his first game on the House squad. He'd scored three goals, which was (as he'd been kind enough to remind James after the game) two more than James had scored. Granted, James had only been in for half of a game that had taken much less time, as he had been kind enough to remind Phillip. And James's team had _won _their match.

James, mercifully, had enjoyed a relatively peaceful several weeks – although he was sure his ribs were cracked from all the times Murphy had elbowed him during one of Malcolm's lessons.

But not even Malcolm's snide, backhanded remarks – or the large mountains of homework Professor Gladstone seemed to be setting him – could curb his excitement about the coming weekend.

"It's too bad we can't go to Hogsmeade yet," said James over their lunch that day. "You could finally see my uncles' joke shop – well, a branch of it, anyways…"

"I've already seen the main one in London, anyway," Murphy reasoned.

"That's only the main one because it's in London, you know," James said. "The one in Hogsmeade is bigger."

"Bigger?" repeated Murphy, sounding surprised. "How's that make any sense when the main one's in London?"

"Because there wasn't enough space in London," James deadpanned. "Uncle George was lucky to get the space he did in Diagon Alley. The couple that sold it to them, from what Uncle George says, fled the country. I bet they knew something. It was right after my uncles opened up the shop that Wizarding Britain went straight to hell – or to Voldemort, if you see a difference…"

"Yeah, yeah, sure… here's my question – when are we getting one in Belfast?" Murphy asked, grinning wryly.

"They're nervous about opening a third location," said James. "With only two of them, they'd have to hand most of the third shop's work over to someone not named Weasley… and Uncle George doesn't like that idea much."

"Well, couldn't they just Apparate from one to the other, or… set up a Floo network or something?" asked Murphy.

"Have _you _tried Apparating from London to Belfast?" snarked James. "Actually, Uncle George is hoping either Freddy or Roxanne can help run the business once they're old enough. Then he might branch out a bit more."

Murphy let out a sigh of relief as he rotated his neck. "I'm so glad we get to stow the bloody ties for a day, at least. I hate ties. Hate uniforms, for that matter."

James chuckled; Murphy had been carrying out a passive-aggressive rebellion against Hogwarts' dress code for about a year now.

"I wonder what sort of clothes the Slytherins wear?" Murphy asked. "Well, I mean, when they're not in school robes."

"I'd think they wouldn't dress all that differently than we do," James said. "Why would you say that?"

"I don't know," murmured Murphy. "Cecil Brookstanton was going on yesterday about how Slytherins probably dress in all black…"

"Cecil's an idiot," James interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I mean… I know he's got that famous ancestor or whatever… but he's an idiot. I can't believe…"

James trailed off and looked away.

"…Can't believe I used to act a little bit like him. He probably doesn't even know a single Slytherin and he's got all these ideas in his head about them," he finished.

Murphy looked at James with a look of concern. "You're really mad for that Brynne Walter girl, aren't you?"

"It's got nothing to do with her!" James exclaimed, slapping the table.

"Sure, it doesn't," Murphy said. "Except that you've been completely different ever since you became friends with her and the others. You _hated_ Slytherin. And now, you're going on about how most of them are alright. What is it, then? If you don't fancy Brynne Walter, what is it?"

"It's something…" James started, not knowing whether this would help his case or not. "Something she said to me."

"Something she said," repeated Murphy. "You _don't_ fancy her, but everything you're doing now is because of something she said. What did she say, then?"

James winced.

"Well…?" Murphy asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," James said.

"Okay, fair enough," Murphy answered briskly. "I guess I'll just have to ask her about it next time I—"

"_Don't you dare_," James cut Murphy off, shooting him the deadliest of death glares.

"Alright, alright…" Murphy muttered, looking very uncomfortable. "Bloody hell."

More silence.

"For what it's worth, mate… I _do_ think you'd make a smart match, you and her…"

James looked up at Murphy and took a deep breath. "This isn't going to end anytime soon, is it?"

Murphy smirked. "No. So… erm… what are the other ones like? The two boys?"

"Why are you asking all these questions?" asked James. "You're going to meet them soon enough."

"Wha –?" Murphy uttered.

"They're all coming to Gryffindor Tower," James explained. "Staying the entire weekend. Actually, come to think of it… since we're still gonna be divided by year, Nott and Bletchley'll be in with Al and Scorpius, and Brynne's going to be staying with Rosie and the other first year girls…"

Murphy frowned.

"What's wrong, mate?" asked James.

"Just thought of something… you think Vaisey'll be allowed back into Gryffindor Tower?" asked Murphy.

"Doubt it," James replied. Just then, a loud screech prompted James and Murphy to look up. A solitary, grayish owl was circling lower and lower, vaguely toward their table.

"What?" Murphy uttered, looking up. "Mail doesn't come midday. Bloody bird must be confused or something."

"Either that, or it's urgent," James reasoned, frowning. Sure enough, as the owl descended lower and lower, James saw that it was indeed carrying a white envelope. After several moments of wondering, James also saw that the owl was gliding in his direction. An envelope fluttered to his side. "Is this for me?"

"Well, seeing as the owl dropped it right on top of you…" Murphy replied. James had picked it up backwards and couldn't see the address. "And seeing as it's addressed to James Sirius Potter, I'd say it's yours."

James flipped it over and saw also the name and address of Ginevra Potter – his mother.

"It's from home," James muttered, a bubble of concern growing in his stomach. His father's job being what it was, James had always lived with the tiniest bit of dread that one day… James mentally slapped himself. This _was_ his father he was talking about, after all. Not just any Auror. _The _Harry bloody Potter. If something had happened to him, surely all of wizarding Britain would have been talking about it, right?

James opened the letter and saw a very quick, tidy scrawl – his mother's handwriting.

"_Dear James,_

_Just thought you should know that Kreacher passed away last night."_

"Blimey," James uttered blankly, looking up.

"You alright?" Murphy asked. James turned to look at him.

"Our house-elf's dead," he said flatly.

Murphy seemed to take a second or two to process this. "Well, that's an unfortunate surprise."

"Surprise? Not sure about that," James said grimly. "I mean… Kreacher was old even for a house-elf. And that's _old_. Except… he got so old, I guess I just started to think he wouldn't ever die…"

He continued to read the letter.

_Lily's –_ "Oh, no…"

"Something else happen?" Murphy asked, sounding concerned.

"'_Lily's the one that found him, so she's obviously very upset,'"_ James quoted from the letter. Murphy frowned. "Lily _loved_ that elf. '_We're obviously not planning on having another house-elf, but you knew that already. Your father never wanted one, and he only kept Kreacher around because it would have been more cruel to set him free at his age. I hope you're not too terribly broken up about it, but I thought I'd let you know now instead of finding out when you came home for Christmas._ _Remember to eat your vegetables, don't get too friendly with any little witches, and don't cheek your professors. I'm serious. I don't want to have to come up there. See you in a few weeks! Lots of love, Mum._

P.S. _I know it's a bit late, but we listened to the Quidditch match! We're all so proud of you.'_"

James dropped the letter on the table and rolled his eyes. Meanwhile, Murphy sniggered.

"Sorry, mate," he said between laughs, "I just – I know it's bad form to laugh at a letter that says somebody died, but… the ending's funny. 'Eat your vegetables, don't get too friendly with any little witches, and don't cheek your professors.' You'd think she's got someone following you around."

"Knowing my mum, she might," said James darkly.

"You'd better behave, then," Murphy laughed. "Y'know, it's probably Albus… the little gremlin."

"I doubt it," James replied seriously. "Al's never been the curious type…"

**Albus**

Albus blearily watched Professor Binns' walk – or float – back and forth at the front of his dimly lit classroom. Binns, being a ghost who started teaching in only-God-knows-_what_ century, was extremely old-fashioned in his approach. To Albus's chagrin, that approach included assigned seating – and in his case, assigned seating in the very front of the classroom. Albus was close enough to Binns to feel the chill that seemed to be common to all ghosts' spectral forms. Thankfully, to soften the blow, Albus was flanked by Scorpius and Sylvia, and Rose was in the row behind them. That was normally where she sat, at any rate; Binns, no longer capable of the task (he preferred to call himself 'corporeally challenged'), had recruited Rose to pass out graded examinations. Albus, Scorpius, and Sylvia looked at each other as the papers were laid facedown in front of them.

"On three?" whispered Sylvia. The boys nodded. "One… two…"

They turned their papers over. In red quill ink, a shining "Acceptable" and the words "not bad – could be better" were clearly visible at the top. Albus leaned in Scorpius's direction. He had gotten the same grade. Sylvia, however, hadn't been at Rowan's study session in the library, and she wasn't as fortunate. She was staring blankly at a large "Dreadful" shining on her paper.

"Cheer up, Sylvia," Scorpius said. "You'll get 'em next time."

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "As if I care… I'm already counting the days until I can tell this class to kiss—"

"On the whole," Binns interrupted, "I confess myself… rather disappointed at this class's showing for this examination."

"Well, maybe it'd do us some good," piped up an obviously irritated Desmond McLaggen from the back, "if you could actually keep us awake during your lectures."

As rude as this was for Desmond to say, Albus couldn't help agreeing with him just a bit.

"I'll have none of your guff, Mr. MacIntosh, he of the first 'T' mark I've had to give out _this entire term,_" snapped Binns, using more inflection than Albus thought possible for him. "Especially when some of your classmates actually _passed_ this examination – and Mr. Longfellow, sitting beside you, managed an 'O'."

Rowan Lester, who had been unfortunately forced to sit beside Desmond, shifted his seat away from his burly classmate, going pink.

"In any case, since Mr. Longbottom here seems to have such an innate grasp of this material…" Nearly all of the Gryffindors sniggered. Binns, who routinely missed and mangled the names of most students and professors, didn't seem to see the humor. "I think it's a good idea if the rest of you go to him in the future if you have any questions. In the meantime…"

"Professor Binns?" Rose, who had (Albus was reasonably sure) earned one of the better marks in the class, asked.

"Hmm? Yes, Miss Weasley?" Rose took pride in being the one of the few students that was correctly addressed in History of Magic. Then again, that was because Binns had taught several dozen Weasleys in his time and therefore defaulted to that name anytime someone's surname began with a 'W'.

"I was wondering if you knew anything about the Forbidden Branches of Magic," Rose answered.

Binns tilted his head. Gracious as he was about answering questions (albeit in his stupor-inducing drone), he was also wary of students wasting precious class time by leading him onto rabbit trails. "I believe that would be a question best addressed to your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, young lady."

"Well, it was worth a try," Scorpius muttered to Rose as the first years left Binns' classroom a while later.

"Old Binns is as stubborn as they come, though," Sylvia groaned. "I'm surprised he let us out on time. I thought he'd keep droning on forever."

"Binns is a joke," snapped Desmond, who had forced his way by them and turned around. "I know there are perfectly good _living _wizards somewhere in Britain that could come to teach Magical History."

"Don't look now, but there's a _troll_ on the loose," Sylvia said, punctuating her comment with an airy laugh. Desmond rounded on her immediately and appeared to be ready to let loose a tirade. For whatever reason, though, he held himself in and skulked off.

"Do you _have_ to push his buttons all the time?" groaned Albus morosely.

"It's fun," Sylvia answered, grinning.

"You know he's just gonna take it out on us later," Albus sighed, going to adjust his tie, which had become a habit of his when he was under stress. Except there was no tie to adjust. "Hey, what—?"

"We're not wearing them today, remember?" Rose reminded him. "Unity Weekend?"

"Oh… oh, that's right… which probably means our rooms will look completely different when we get back…" Sylvia sighed.

"Ours probably won't," commented Albus, looking alternately at Scorpius and Rowan. "None of us have any friends in other houses, right?"

"Not really," Rowan answered.

Although, when the boys arrived at their dorm a bit later, they were surprised to find that the room itself had grown a bit. Not only that, but the three crimson and gold four-poster beds (apparently McLaggen had left, and Vaisey still wasn't allowed back) had been joined by two more beds, these with the silver and green hangings of Slytherin House.

Albus looked back and forth between Scorpius and Rowan.

"You don't have any Slytherins visiting, do you?" Rowan asked Scorpius first.

"Why would it be me?" Scorpius snapped back, obviously defensive.

"I mean… your dad was in Slytherin, and you know Tellius Nott, right?" Albus asked. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Well… no," murmured Scorpius, looking down, still apparently uncomfortable with the notion that he could be friends with a Slytherin. "I didn't invite anyone."

Albus had started to dispense of his robes – with classes at an end, he no longer needed them. "What's so bad about being friends with anyone in Slytherin, Scorpius?"

"You can do it – I don't care," Scorpius said hastily. He had pulled off his robes and pulled on his favorite shirt – a black t-shirt bearing a golden Snitch on the front. "I just prefer not to rub shoulders with them."

"What?" Albus uttered, shocked. "We've got Slytherins in some of our classes. There's nothing _wrong_ with them."

"_I know that,_ Albus," Scorpius replied, now obviously annoyed. "But this is _me _we're taking about, remember? Grandson-of-Dark-Lord's-former-right-arm? I've gotta be _careful_. Even my father told me that."

Albus frowned. "Well, you're not gonna have a choice. Not unless you plan on sleeping in the common room."

"I think meeting a Slytherin will be interesting," Rowan said. "But I hear they're a much quieter lot."

"Did James tell you anything about Slytherin's dungeon?" asked Scorpius.

"Nothing," answered Albus. "Then again, we don't talk much nowa—"

The door creaked open. For a half second, Albus had expected it to be Desmond, fuming about how Sylvia had treated him earlier. Instead, though, it was his brother.

"James?"

"Funny how that works," Scorpius muttered.

"Hey, Scorpius," James said. Albus was immediately concerned. Rarely did he ever look this grim. "Hey, Al, you didn't get an owl from Mum, did you?"

"No," Albus answered. "Not since she replied to mine a couple of weeks ago."

"I guess she meant for me to tell you, then," James said, his expression still grave. He took a deep breath. "Kreacher's gone. Lil found him dead this morning."

Albus grimaced.

James nodded a bit aimlessly. "You're alright, then? No trouble with Vaisey or anyone else?"

He had given the quickest of glances to Scorpius as well while answering this question. Scorpius shook his head.

"No trouble," replied Albus.

"Good. Try not to start any," James said. Then, with a wry smirk, he added, "But if you have to start some or it comes to you, try to finish it. That's what Potters do, after all."

Albus smiled. Their father had let that mantra slip at supper once in reference to his work; ever since then, James had taken it and run with it as something of a motto.

"Oh, and…" James looked around at the three boys. "The two Slytherins coming to stay with you lot are friends of mine, so be nice."

And, with a vague wave, he departed from the room. Albus's smile slid off his face.

"What's wrong?" asked Scorpius, noticing Albus's expression.

"First of all, our house-elf's dead," Albus murmured, almost surprised that Scorpius had asked that question. "But… James is acting very strangely."

"What do you mean?" asked Scorpius.

"There's something wrong with him," Albus said. "He's never this… serious."

"House-elf?" Rowan uttered. "Aren't those sort of like elf slaves or something? I saw in the _Daily Prophet _where some lady named Hermione Weasley wants to send a man to Azkaban for life for abusing one… wait – Weasley? Say, she's not Rose's –"

"Mum, yes," Albus interrupted. "And my aunt. She's a bit… I guess, obsessed over house-elf rights. Although she's not mad about it like she was when she was younger… Still, I'll bet she'll try to have a full funeral for Kreacher."

He couldn't help but smile vaguely.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door. "Are you alright for me to come in?"

"That's Rose," Scorpius said, looking at Albus.

"Come in!" Albus exclaimed. Rose came through the door and was followed closely by Sylvia, who pushed past her and looked around.

"Oh… so this is what a boys' dormitory looks like," she said, sounding a bit disappointed, as if she'd been expecting something more interesting. Rowan went about as white as Scorpius's normal skin tone (for the latter had gone pink.) Albus, on the other hand, was completely unbothered by the presence of two girls in the room, especially when one of them had been barging into his rooms at will for as long as he could remember.

"Just two Slytherins? Hmm…" Rose commented.

"What about you?" Albus asked – but it was Sylvia who answered.

"Well, Nina and Liz are gone… but we've got one of each. One Hufflepuff, one Ravenclaw, and a Slytherin."

"All four houses?" Albus uttered. "That should be interesting."

"I wish they'd come one at a time," murmured Rose. "It all seems like a bit much."

"One house at a time?" Sylvia repeated, hands on her hips. "What is this, Quidditch season? _Don't_ answer that, Scorpius…"

Scorpius gave Albus a quick aside glance that indicated that he'd never had any intention of making a comment.

"I think I'll be spending most of my time in the library this weekend," Rose said offhandedly.

"No, you bloody well won't," snapped Sylvia, hands on her hips. "I thought we had a _deal_ – you help me with my marks, and I help you not to be such a bookish weirdo."

"Deal?" Rose repeated, going red and casting a glance at Albus. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," said Sylvia… and she practically dragged Rose by the collar of her robes out of the room. Albus and Scorpius stared at each other.

"Does Sylvia scare you at all?" asked the latter.

"Only very much," replied Albus.

"That's a relief," commented Rowan. "This whole time, I've thought it was just me."

Scorpius sighed as he slid down onto his bed. "Never a dull moment with you lot…"

He went very quiet. "You alright?" Albus asked.

Scorpius nodded; but it seemed to be more of a gesture of concession than agreement. "Just thinking about how boring the holidays will be. Christmas isn't for another month and I'm already not looking forward to it."

"Well… don't think about it right now," Albus said haltingly, not sure how to help Scorpius with this problem. "Should we go back down to the common room? I'll bet things are starting to get interesting."

A bit reluctantly, Scorpius nodded.

As he, Scorpius, and Rowan found their way back down to the common room, however, it seemed like any normal Friday afternoon – that is, most students were out and about somewhere in the castle and very few, Gryffindor or otherwise, had returned. There was a somewhat familiar-looking fifth year in the common room, however, trying to place decorations with a Levitation Charm. A large banner was hanging across the top of the common room, reading in brilliant scarlet letters: "WELCOME GUESTS."

The trio of boys approached the other young wizard. He was tall and stick-like, with long brown hair flapping out from underneath a beanie he was wearing indoors for some odd reason.

"Hey, Tommy!" the boy shouted to the Prefect, who was sitting at a table some distance away, alone and perusing a textbook. Albus supposed that Tommy Jordan was trying to get as much studying done as possible before the guests arrived and the common room grew too noisy to hear one's thoughts. "How's it look from where you're sitting?"

Tommy looked up at the banner. "Left's sagging a bit," he said almost nonchalantly, going back to his book.

"…Said the actress to the bishop," the boy added wryly.

Tommy Jordan's mouth did a strange, guilty contortion – almost as if he was laughing and also trying to stop himself.

"Really?" the fifth year boy frowned and backed away in an attempt to get a better view. "I still like the lion's head idea, you know!"

"I did, too, until I found out you'd bewitched it to breathe fire," Tommy said flatly.

"I can take that charm off!" the boy said defensively. Then, he looked down and finally seemed to notice the first years. "All right there, cubbies? Wait – don't tell me – ickle Potter, ickle Malfoy, and then… nope. No idea who you are. Who are you, again?"

"Rowan Lester," Rowan answered.

"Lester, hm? First year, too?" the fifth year boy asked. Rowan nodded. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Isaac Pike II, Supreme Mugwump of all things entertaining and frivolous. You may address me as 'Sir' or 'Lord Pike'. Tommy over there used to be my partner in mischief; that is, until he traded in his sense of humor for a Prefect's badge."

"Hey – I heard that," Tommy snapped, looking up from his book again.

"I'm sure you did," Pike answered, going back to his preoccupation with the banner. Albus exchanged glances with Scorpius; it was clearly time to move on.

"Blimey, it's _dead_ in here," murmured Rowan, looking around. "Where is everyone?"

"Well, it's only, what… three?" Scorpius answered. "I bet most of them are still in class."

"And dinner's not for another… three hours…" Rowan sighed disapprovingly. "So… should we visit one of the other common rooms just for fun?"

Albus looked at Scorpius.

"You want to try Ravenclaw?" asked Albus uncertainly.

"That'd be brilliant!" exclaimed Rowan. "I've always wondered what their tower looked like."

He made for the door with haste and gusto. Albus and Scorpius quickened their pace to try to keep up.

"Oi! Lester! Bring it down a notch!" yelled Tommy warningly – but Lester had virtually leapt through the portrait hole's circular door. He disappeared, and a high-pitched scream rang into the common room not long after, along with what sounded like Rowan yelling loudly. Albus and Scorpius exchanged alarmed glances before darting to the door to see what had happened.

The sight that awaited the two boys was equal parts awkward and hilarious. An extra pair each of arms and legs flailed outward from where Rowan had landed – face-down on the top of another person's body. An older student came tearing down the hall at a full sprint.

"OI! IDIOT!" he shouted, pulling Rowan up and ramming him against the wall in one fluid motion. It was then that they realized that the person that Rowan had pinned to the ground was a young girl, who hastily sat up, going red with either pain or embarrassment. Albus instantly recognized her extremely straight, black hair and slanted, almond-shaped eyes. Meanwhile, the older student – a quite tall fellow – had Rowan up against the wall in a choke hold. "What the hell are you playing at, huh?"

"Come on, now, Donnie, it was an accident…" the girl said, scrambling to her feet and grabbing a gentle hold of the boy's arm. He snarled and let go of Rowan, who slid from the wall to his rump, on the ground. Instantly, Donnie brought him back to his feet.

"Up! You think I don't recognize that trick?" he snapped, a very obvious Scottish brogue surfacing in his anger.

"Donnie, stop it, will you?" the girl replied, and Albus noticed for the first time that she had quite the same accent. "See, this is why I didn't want you coming!"

"Bloody mental! Get away from me!" cried Rowan, hiding behind Albus, who couldn't figure out whether it was Donnie or the girl that Rowan feared more.

"Donnie, calm down," the girl groaned. She turned to the boys. "Albus, Scorpius."

She curtsied, which Albus thought was a bit strange – stranger, even, than her actually talking in front of them.

"Uh… hi, Iris," Albus replied, quickly figuring out that Scorpius and Rowan were going to 'let' him do all the talking. "Uh… are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Iris Conrad answered, not meeting Albus's eyes.

"Don't do that, Iris. I told you – you've gotta keep your head up when you're talking with people," Donnie said. He tried putting his hands around Iris's shoulders. She squirmed away.

"Don't you have to get back to Cordelia?" she asked, sounding mildly annoyed.

"I just want to make sure you're alright first," Donnie said, a bit stubbornly.

"I'm _fine_, like I said," Iris answered, quite a bit more forcefully than Albus thought her capable. "I'm not a little child anymore, you know. I don't need you to hold my hand everywhere."

"I know…" Donnie answered, sounding extremely sad. "Well… I'll see you later. Let me know if anyone gives you any trouble."

"Fine," sighed Iris, and she and the other boys watched Donnie depart back down the hall. Iris turned to the boys.

"Who was that?" Albus finally asked – and by the look on Rowan's face, Rowan had been thinking the same question.

"Donaghan Craig," Iris answered. Scorpius's eyes flashed for whatever reason. "He's a fifth year. He's sort of… family, but not really."

"What, is he adopted?" asked Albus.

"He adopted me, I guess," Iris answered. Albus noticed that she still had a habit of staring at her shoes when she talked. "Our mums were friends back at Hogwarts, and his parents are my godparents. I think they put him up to it. Either that, or it's because he's the type that needs someone to look after. But, since he's an only child…"

She trailed off.

"I know it's just because he cares, but he can be… stifling," Iris murmured.

"Why don't you tell him to piss off, then?" Rowan asked. By the sound of it, this was less out of genuine curiosity and more out of frustration at having been manhandled.

Iris put her hand to her mouth and giggled. "…Never mind. You don't know where the first years' dorm is, do you? I mean… for the girls…"

"Oh… sure," said Albus. "Just go up to the height of the tower from the common room, and when you reach the landing, go right. Rose and Sylvia should already be up there."

"Okay… thank you," Iris said, starting toward the portrait hole. She turned around, looked right at Rowan and said sadly, "I'm sorry. I know we have a class together… but I still don't remember your name."

"Uh… Rowan," answered Rowan, as if it had taken him a split-second to remember. "Rowan Lester."

"It's nice to meet you," she said, curtsying again. "Maybe, next time we run into each other, it won't be quite so… literal?"

"Yeah… sure. Sorry about that…" Rowan murmured.

"It's alright. No harm done," she said, leaving Rowan a nervous half-smile before climbing into the portrait hole.

Once again, the boys were alone.

"She was weird," Rowan said quickly.

"You think all girls are weird," said Scorpius dismissively.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Rowan answered. Albus and Scorpius stole a glance at each other.

"You should be thanking her, probably," Scorpius said flatly. Rowan whirled around.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Donaghan Craig?" Scorpius looked back and forth from Albus to Rowan. Both shook their heads. He was obviously expecting them to know or remember something, but Albus, for his part, had no idea what. "He's one of Ravenclaw's Beaters. He's got a nasty streak, even for a Beater, and that's saying a lot."

"Sort of like McLaggen, but worse?" asked Albus darkly.

Scorpius shook his head. "Not quite that… everybody says he's an alright guy, but he's got a really short fuse. That Cordelia girl Iris was talking about was probably Cordelia Byrne – Ravenclaw's Chaser. Last guy that fouled her ended up in the hospital wing for a week."

Albus winced.

"Do you ever talk about anything that's not Quidditch, Scorpius?" asked Rowan.

Scorpius turned to Rowan, wearing an expression of surprising smugness. "Do you ever talk about anything that's not History of Magic?"

The two boys stared at each other for a couple of seconds and then sighed. It was an obvious stalemate. Albus frowned. He didn't have that one favorite thing that he liked – or disliked – enough to talk about it most of the time. And he was starting to think that he was a lot less strange for it.

**James**

"Merlin's pants, J.P. What are we, some sort of bloody gatekeepers?" Rick Murphy complained for not the first time that afternoon, as James sat down on the staircase leading up to Gryffindor Tower. "That's what they've got the Fat Lady for, right?"

"The Fat Lady's skived off for the weekend, hasn't she?" James asked darkly, staring straight ahead.

"Who – what – are you looking for, anyway?" asked Murphy. James looked up and around his shoulder at Murphy, a stuck look on his face.

"…Hufflepuffs? Hmm?" James raised his eyebrows significantly. "I thought we've had this conversation a hundred times, Murphy."

"More like two hundred," Murphy replied, rolling his eyes, "and I keep telling you the same thing. Unless you can put together some concrete _proof _that Hufflepuff House is looking to – actually, I'm not even going to dignify the idea by saying it aloud."

"What's that supposed to mean?" James asked, standing up. "You think I'm barking?"

Murphy climbed a stair. "I'm not saying you're… you might have a point. Or two. I'm just saying, ever since that Malcolm incident, it's been 'Hufflepuffs, Malcolm, Hufflepuffs, Malcolm…' and occasionally 'Quidditch' or 'Brynne' but then more 'Hufflepuffs' and a bit more 'Malcolm'. I mean… blimey. For someone you don't like at all, you seem to enjoy talking about him an awful lot. You're obsessing. It's scary."

With an exasperated grunt, James sat down on the stairs again, folding his arms. "What do you suggest, then?"

"Concentrate on something else," replied Murphy, as if this was the easiest thing in the world. "You've got another match coming up soon. Or, more immediately, you can think about how you plan on finding yourself and Brynne Walter some time to yourselves."

"Who said I wanted that?" snapped James. "At all?"

"Don't be daft, J.P.," answered Murphy, finally taking a seat alongside him. "I mean, there's no shame in it. She seems nice enough. _Howling _mad, obviously, but…"

"She is _not_ howling mad," James snarled. Murphy didn't attempt to defend or argue this point. Instead, he raised his eyebrows in an expression of smugness that only irritated James more. "She's _not_. She's just different. The things that make sense to her don't always make a lot of sense to anyone else."

"Do they make sense to you?" asked Murphy.

"Of course not," James sighed, shaking his head.

"Ah – speak of the devil…" Murphy said. James looked up and peered over the railing. Coming around a landing and up the stairs toward them were James's three Slytherin friends. (The reason he could tell from this distance is because the girl behind them looked like she was trying to turn the simple act of walking stairs into some sort of dance.) They approached closer… "Well… I'll be a bloody leprechaun. They _do _dress normal."

Both boys were dressed in blue jeans, yet looked different as night and day. Tellius Nott had chosen what appeared to be an Oxford shirt under a blazer and tie. Astride him, Phillip Bletchley looked quite relaxed with his long-sleeved, pale blue T-shirt. It had a logo on it that James vaguely recognized.

"He's an Arrows fan…?" Murphy murmured. "Tough luck for him."

James didn't know much about the Appleby Arrows – just that they were based in Appleby… and that the team was quite dreadful. He and his family, naturally, were all (at least nominally) Holyhead Harpies fans. They were fans, of course, because it was where James's mum had spent her playing career; nominally, because the Harpies played their home games all the way up on the far side of Wales – not exactly close to where James and his family lived in Ottery St. Catchpole.

"I already like Slytherin's common room better," Tellius Nott muttered, adjusting his glasses. "Too many bloody stairs."

"Not used to the sunlight yet?" James chuckled. Tellius couldn't help but crack a smile; James spent most of their time together taking the mickey out of the Slytherins with vampire-related jokes.

"What sunlight?" Phillip chuckled drily. "Feels like it's been raining or snowing all bloody November."

"I wonder if the weather around Beauxbatons is like this?" asked Brynne very lightly. The two boys seemed to part to allow her up the stairs. She came to level with them, her wide eyes trained squarely on James. James was a bit taken aback; for some reason, he'd expected her to be wearing something a bit less subtle. But she'd opted for a solid-colored dress (albeit in the unabashedly emerald green of Slytherin House) and black leggings.

"Beauxbatons?" repeated Phillip.

"It's another wizarding school," Tellius answered. "Somewhere in Southern Europe…"

"France," interrupted James. Tellius looked up at him. "My aunt went there- wait, you're not… Brynne, what's – ?"

He had stopped mid-sentence and turned to Brynne because something on her – or, rather, something that was supposed to be on her that wasn't – had caught his eye.

"You're… not wearing shoes," James said blankly.

Brynne looked down at her own feet, visibly wiggling her exposed toes. "What's wrong with that?" she asked brightly. "Do I have to wear shoes? Tellius, is it in the school's rules that I have to wear shoes when we're not in class?"

"Uh—" uttered Tellius, so wrong-footed that James could see his glasses going askew.

Suddenly, though, Brynne's blithe expression faded a bit. "Actually, I've lost them… oh, well. I hate wearing shoes, anyway."

"Yeah… I hate to interrupt all of the witty banter, but…" Murphy cut in, sounding a bit annoyed. "Couldn't we do this in the common room, at least?"

"Ooh!" squealed Brynne, sounding a bit like a small child that had found a toy she liked. "Can we see the common room?"

"I thought that was why we'd come up here," Tellius replied. "Honestly, Brynne, you could do with a Remembrall. It's no good to be so scatterbrained."

James grimaced and simply turned around in an attempt to lead everyone up the steps, hoping that they would fall in line eventually.

"I'm not scatterbrained," he heard Brynne answer. "My mind's always focused on _something _– is that _glitter_ on this carpet?"

James tried to ignore Brynne's antics. He was trying to focus on what, if anything, he needed to say to his friends. Maybe there was something to what Murphy was saying…? _No_, the voice inside James's head said to him. Murphy was choosing to ignore what James had been seeing for a long time. Even Neville knew something was going on, though he wasn't speaking to James or anyone else in detail about it.

_Of course_, James convinced himself. _If Neville knows something's going on, that has to mean something. Neville's a great wizard – and he's seen what it looks like when things go bad here at Hogwarts. If anyone would know when things weren't right, he would._

So, why was James so hesitant to say anything to him? Maybe Murphy had a point. Maybe he just didn't like Malcolm and was trying to pin something on him. But… James just wasn't that childish. He knew what he had heard. At the very least, Malcolm had a serious chip on his shoulder and an immense dislike of Gryffindor House. James already knew Gryffindor had its fair share of bad seeds – Desmond McLaggen came to mind, although he was much more simple bully than Dark wizard in-the-making. Maybe Malcolm had been unfortunate enough to run across one such Gryffindor during his childhood. He seemed to dislike them in particular. James had never heard him say anything untoward about Slytherin or Ravenclaw.

Then again, James had the feeling there was a reason Malcolm didn't mind Ravenclaw as much, too…

"James?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Fighter, Mage, Rogue**

"James?"

James looked up. He was sitting at a table, with the three Slytherins all looking at him from different sides. Phillip Bletchley was the one who had spoken. "You seem awfully quiet."

James shook his head. "Just thinking. That's all."

"Well, you're thinking too hard," Brynne piped in innocently. "You're going to give yourself a headache."

James smiled weakly. "So, uh… how do you like it here?"

Tellius looked around. "It's a bit louder than I'm used to. That's for sure."

James smirked. "This is nothing. You should hear it when all of us are in here."

Tellius grimaced. "I think I'd prefer the quiet of the dungeons."

"At least you get a little sunlight in this tower," commented Brynne. Then, her smile faltering, she added, "When it's not raining, of course…"

"So do you know the blokes we'll be staying with?" Phillip asked suddenly. "We'll be in the room with the other first year boys, right?"

"Well, one of those blokes is my brother," said James flatly. "I thought I told you that. The other's Scorpius Malfoy."

"Scorpius Malfoy, the Slytherin that wasn't," chuckled Tellius. "Between him and Brynne, sometimes I wonder if the Sorting Hat's showing its age a bit…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked James, a bit unnerved by Tellius's choice of words. "Just because his family were all Slytherins doesn't mean he has to be…"

"True," admitted Tellius. "But, then… I knew him before Hogwarts, and he never struck me as daring or brave or any of that. Still doesn't."

James was starting to feel uncomfortable. "Well, for what it's worth, Scorpius _really_ didn't want to be a Slytherin… don't you remember the Sorting?"

"Of _course_ I remember the Sorting," said Tellius impatiently. "That's why I've got a bone to pick with him."

"Don't go starting arguments," Brynne scolded him – a funny thing to hear if there ever was one. "We're here to make friends, aren't we?"

Tellius didn't answer.

"And to discuss…" Brynne lowered her voice and cast a meaningful look at James. "You-know-who."

"Please don't say that," said Tellius, visibly squirming. "It reminds me too much of…."

"…Voldemort?" finished James a bit brazenly. Tellius's eyes moved swiftly in James's direction.

"Yeah. Him."

"What do you mean, 'reminds you'?" asked Phillip. "Voldemort was long gone by the time any of us came around. He's been dead almost twenty years."

"But, then, I have family that was… well, you know…" Tellius muttered. "It's different for us."

Brynne sighed heavily. "What I meant was Professor Malcolm."

"What about him?" asked Phillip.

"Stays to himself, mostly," Tellius replied unexpectedly. "He's very picky about who he eats with. He used to eat alone in the Great Hall, very early, long before any of the Professors. Recently, though, he's changed his schedule to eat with most of the others for supper every day. But he only associates with one person."

James, who knew none of this information and had no idea how Tellius picked it up, watched him with rapt attention.

"Professor Meridia Gladstone, Charms instructor, head of Ravenclaw House, and _de facto _Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts."

"What's a '_de facto_'?" asked Brynne, looking confused.

"Unofficially," Tellius explained. "Flitwick never picked a Deputy Head when he took over for McGonagall. But out of the four Heads of House, Gladstone's been a professor and a House Head the longest, and knows Flitwick best. Naturally, it's assumed that if something were to happen to Professor Flitwick, Professor Gladstone would take over as Headmistress."

"Where… how do you get all of this information?" James asked.

"Observation… reading books, Daily Prophet articles… and then more observation," answered Tellius, pushing his glasses up his face. "Gathering information is sort of the Nott family's hat, as it were. And, speaking of supper…"

He had looked at his wristwatch.

"Oh!" exclaimed Brynne, jumping to her feet.

The four went down to the Great Hall, where they found that the long hall was very nearly full. James's eyes started scanning the four tables for a place they could sit. The bewitched sky-ceiling above them was overcast, and James could just make out white speckles of imaginary snow falling from the clouds. It was there that James caught sight of something concerning. Hagrid (James kicked himself mentally – he'd meant to go to tea at Hagrid's the very first Friday of term and _still_ hadn't gotten around to it) was putting a marquee of a hand onto the shoulder of Professor Neville Longbottom, who was sullenly looking into his mug.

"Hey, James!" squealed Brynne from somewhere behind him. "We found –"

"I'll meet you guys over there," James interrupted her. "I gotta go see about something first."

And he took off toward the staff table, almost waiting for someone to pull him back and stop him. Although he got a couple of questioning looks from the other Professors as he arrived (and he could very nearly feel the heat of Malcolm staring a hole through the back of his skull), no one did. Hagrid, in fact, looked up.

"Hello, Hagrid," James said, trying neither to sound too cheerful nor too somber.

"Finally noticed me, have yeh?" the half-giant answered gruffly. James grimaced uncomfortably.

"I know… sorry, but I've been busy," James muttered. It was a feeble excuse and he knew it. To his surprise, Hagrid's mouth curled upward into a smile – or at least his beard moved upward. James couldn't quite tell.

"I don't blame yeh," he chuckled. "I hear that cap'n o' yers is a real slave driver. Missed yer whole match 'cept the end… which I guess means I was right on time, hm? Yeh're yer father's son, alright."

"Thanks, I guess," James sheepishly. Before he had time to think much about it, he had abandoned all pretext. "What's going on with –"

"'S a personal matter," Hagrid answered very firmly. "Private, that is. Move along, now."

James didn't need telling twice; if he was going to argue the point, it wasn't going to be with a man about five times his size. He turned and started to descend the dais but pulled up short.

"Why are you giving me that look, James? Yes, I go here, too."

**Albus**

James still looked stuck for a moment. His eyes settled on Albus and then darted right and left, presumably to Rose and Scorpius, who were flanking Albus on either side.

"Don't bother," James muttered. "They're not gonna tell you anything."

And he passed by.

"James is acting very… strange," commented Scorpius, raising his eyebrows.

"You notice, too?" asked Albus.

"Notice?" repeated Scorpius. "I see him more than you do nowadays, what with us back to doing practices every other evening…"

Albus grimaced. "Probably gotten himself into some mischief and doesn't want anyone to know about it. Yeah, that'd seem like the thing… Scorpius?"

"Hm?" the blond-haired boy uttered.

"It's probably best if you let Rose and me do the talking," Albus said.

"I'm not talking," whimpered Rose. "He scares me."

Albus wasn't even going to try to address this. He led them up to the staff table.

"Like I said to yer brother," Hagrid started before Albus could speak, "what's goin' on with Professor Longbottom's a private matter."

"I wasn't… going to ask," Albus muttered haltingly, casting a glance at Neville. "I just… hadn't seen you since…"

"…Yeh got here. Two whole months and yeh couldn't find the time, eh?" chuckled Hagrid.

Albus looked down the table. "Well, I wanted to bring Rose, but she's afraid of you."

A strangled whimper of protest rang from Albus's left. Hagrid's face fell.

"Really?" he uttered, his beady, black eyes looking right at the young girl. "That's a shame. Don't you remember when your parents brought yeh ter visit when yeh were jus' a baby? I held yeh 'n everything. Well, yeh've gotten big and I've gotten old. Yeh don' need ter be afraid of me."

"You shouldn't, you know," Neville suddenly piped in from right next to him, looking up from his mug. His smile was weak, weary, and very painted-on-looking. "Hagrid's really alright. You won't find many better friends in the world."

Hagrid smiled warmly at the professor. "Thank yeh, Neville, that's kind of yeh…"

"Anyway," Albus started, grimacing. "I want you to meet someone… _OI!_"

For Scorpius was not at Albus's side like he'd thought, but rather halfway down the dais and obviously trying to sneak away. The blond-haired boy winced horribly, then hunched his shoulders in a defeated pose and turned back toward Albus, coming up to approach the staff table. Not even Hagrid's wild, bushy mane of a beard could hide the tightening expression in his face.

"Hello," Scorpius muttered, sounding as obviously nervous as Rose looked. "I'm –"

"No need," Hagrid interrupted, shaking his head. "I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on yeh… Draco Malfoy's boy."

"Yes, sir," Scorpius answered. "My name's Scorpius."

"'Sir'?" Hagrid was mollified, but also more than a bit shocked. "Well, yeh're a shade more polite than yer old man ever was ter me, I'll give yeh that…"

"I know you and Scorpius's father and grandfather had problems in the past…" Albus started.

"Problems?" Hagrid chuckled a bit savagely. Then, eyeing Scorpius suspiciously, he added, "'Problems' don't even do it justice. Even if they hadn't been Death Eaters, they were both lousy gits ter me…"

Scorpius's face contorted –

"And your mother was a savage monster – does that mean we should treat you like one?" Everybody's eyes turned – to Neville, whose back was straight in his chair again. "You lot move along. Professor Hagrid and I have things to discuss."

Albus, Rose and Scorpius escaped the dais as quickly as they were able; they did not hear the conversation that followed.

"…Rubeus," Neville said calmly, which got the half-giant's attention – this former student of Hagrid's, even now as an adult, never addressed him by his first name. "I personally don't care if you take your grudge with Draco and Lucius Malfoy all the way to the grave with you. But whatever misdeeds they've committed, you _will not_ punish Scorpius for them. I will not allow you to do that. He's a _boy_ – and, from what I've seen, a fair student and an outstanding Quidditch player, who can go as far as he desires in life, provided his spirit isn't crushed along the way."

Hagrid sighed. "Sorry… but yeh gotta understand…"

"You think I don't?" Neville interrupted. "Draco Malfoy bullied me through most of school. You're not the only one with a good memory. But Scorpius's resemblance to Draco is skin deep, if that."

Hagrid grimaced. "Yeh've become a great man, Neville. More importan', yeh've become a _good_ man. Yeh deserve better'n what's happenin' ter yeh righ' now."

Neville sighed heavily. "Hannah and I still have each other, at the very least. This being the third time… maybe it's not meant to be."

"Don' say that," Hagrid answered comfortingly. "Yeh got years an' years ter keep tryin'."

Neville shook his head. "We can't have everything we want in life. Well… except if your name's Harry Potter. Then again, he somewhat deserves it."

"Do you not?" a silky voice from down the table intoned. Neville turned and looked over his shoulder. C. B. Malcolm was sitting there, his spectacles flashing in the light.

**Albus**

"He hates me," Scorpius said morosely, staring at a table in the Gryffindor common room a couple of hours later. The boy shook his head.

"Don't be thick," Albus replied, though he wasn't completely convinced Scorpius was wrong. "Whatever Neville said set him straight. He'll probably be very nice to you, now that he knows you're a friend of mine."

Albus supposed Rose would have been able to come up with something a bit better than that; but Sylvia had dragged her off somewhere and had left the two boys alone. Scorpius sighed a hissing sigh. "Is that the best I can do – be Albus Potter's friend?"

Albus grimaced.

"Excuse me?" Albus and Scorpius both looked up from the table. Albus vaguely recognized the faces of the two boys that stood before him. One was Tellius Nott, and the auburn-haired boy was also a first year Slytherin, though his name escaped Albus at the moment. The auburn-haired boy was the one speaking. "Albus? Scorpius?"

"Yes?" Albus answered.

"I don't know if we've been properly introduced," he said, proferring his hand. Albus shook it. "Phillip Bletchley, Slytherin. I'm a friend of your brother's. This here is –"

"We've met," Tellius interrupted a bit flatly. He had his bespectabled eyes dead set on Scorpius, who seemed to be confused as to why Tellius was eyeing him so.

Evening had turned into night, so the four boys made their way up into the dormitories. When they got there, Tellius and Phillip went immediately to their beds as if they knew where they were already.

"I was wondering what happened to you guys," Rowan, who was already in the room, piped up. "I ran into Iris Conrad again. Completely lost, she was. Didn't Sylvia or Rose ever get ahold of her?"

"I lost both of them after dinner," Albus said, shaking his head. "Knowing Rose, she's probably hiding out in the library."

Scorpius's eyes did a quick scan of the room –

"He's not here, Scorpius," Rowan said. Scorpius relaxed a bit, but Albus couldn't tell if he looked relieved or disappointed.

"So you're Rowan Lester?" Tellius approached the other Gryffindor boy. Albus noticed that they seemed to share a similar, weedy appearance. "Tellius Nott. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Nice to meet you, too – for real, I mean. I guess we'd have had Flying class together…" Rowan answered.

"Glad that's over," Tellius deadpanned.

"Really? I kind of enjoyed it," Rowan countered. Tellius raised his eyebrows; he obviously hadn't been expecting that reaction.

"It took me six bloody weeks to pass. I was next to last – only before a girl from your house who I'm guessing hadn't seen a broom before she came to Hogwarts." Tellius complained. Albus guessed that Tellius was talking about Nina Edgerton, who was Muggle-born and probably _wouldn't_ have seen a flying broom before Hogwarts. Shrugging his shoulders, Tellius changed his tone. "Oh, well. I guess some families are blessed with the ability to fly well. The Notts just weren't one of them. Bletch, on the other hand… he's a third-generation Quidditch player. His father and grandfather both played here, too."

Phillip _had _designs on starting a conversation with Scorpius, but turned toward the others on hearing himself mentioned. "I'm the first Chaser, though… both of them were Keepers. Actually, come to think of it…"

Now he turned toward Scorpius, whose eyes went wide for a moment.

"Our dads played together, didn't they?" asked Scorpius.

"I think so," Phillip answered. "Your dad was Seeker from…"

" '92 through '95," Scorpius answered. "Or something like that."

"Yep, my dad was on the team until '93," Phillip said, nodding.

"Hmm," Scorpius uttered laconically. Then, his eyes flickered to Phillip's shirt. "The Appleby Arrows?"

"Yes?" Phillip replied. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Nothing…" Scorpius smirked, which Albus thought was uncharacteristic. "Maybe you should have been a Gryffindor instead. It takes a lot of courage to step out into public wearing anything that says 'Appleby Arrows' on it."

Phillip tilted his head then, and started through the process of changing into his bedclothes, which Albus thought was a bit convenient, "Well, then, who do you support, hot stuff?"

"Chudley, of course," answered Scorpius.

"Everyone's a Cannons fan nowadays," sighed Phillip, rolling his eyes. "No one remembers they were down on their luck a few years ago, just like the Arrows are now. But a few years can make a big difference. We've got this new manager guy that says he can turn the team around. And this guy actually _knows _Quidditch – not like those Department sods that just throw Galleons at a situation and call it good."

"What's his name?" asked Scorpius curiously.

"You probably wouldn't know him," Phillip said. "But he played Keeper for Puddlemere United for a few years a while back."

"Nope," Scorpius answered, shaking his head. "Never followed Puddlemere."

Albus had focused in on this conversation, finding it mildly more interesting than the one happening between Rowan and Tellius Nott behind him. ("So that's how the village of Hogsmeade got its name…")

"What about you, Albus?" asked Phillip. "Do you follow any teams in the League?"

Albus grimaced. "Well, the Harpies… sort of."

"I suppose that'd make sense," Phillip admitted. "Your mum played for them for a bit, right?"

"Yes," Albus answered. "But that was years ago. Before James and I were born. We still get lifetime free tickets to all of their home matches, though. But they play in Wales, and Dad's so busy all the time, so…"

"Doing what?" asked Phillip. Albus frowned.

"Well, his Auror office… thing," he answered a bit feebly.

"I mean… no disrespect, but do we even need a head of the Auror Office at a time like this?" Phillip asked. "There aren't really any Dark wizards out there to catch, are there? I mean… that's because they've already gotten rid of most of the important ones."

"Dad likes his work," Albus explained.

"So… are you gonna be an Auror like him?" Phillip asked. Albus shook his head.

"I don't think so," he said. "James, maybe… but not me."

"At the rate your Dad's going…" Phillip chuckled. "We might not even need Aurors by the time we're out of here. That'd be wicked, wouldn't it?"

Albus smiled weakly as he sat down on his four-poster bed, suddenly realizing in that moment that it had been well over two months since he had seen his mother, father, or sister face-to-face, or heard any of their voices.

"Yeah. Wicked."

_Meanwhile…_

Sylvia's eyes darted between the two girls. The auburn-haired girl to her left had her nose buried very intently in a book. A girl across the room, sitting atop a bed with blue and bronze hangings, seemed to be writing or drawing something with a quill and parchment. Her eyes would pop up from over the parchment every few seconds before she went back to whatever it was she was doing.

Sylvia sighed a loud, exaggerated sigh. Neither of the other two girls looked up. She sighed again. Nobody moved. It was almost enough to make her wish Nina and Liz were back in the room. _Almost_.

The door swung open. Sylvia's eyes turned toward it and, despite themselves, the other two girls followed suit. A girl wearing a green dress skipped inside, her dark red curls bouncing as she went.

_First of all, who wears a dress nowadays? She might as well have her school robes still on,_ Sylvia thought to herself. _And her eyes are too big – way too big. It's a little bit creepy. Please don't look over here. Please don't look over – oh, Merlin's –_

For the red-haired girl's blue eyes had focused directly on Sylvia, who tilted her head, feeling uncomfortable.

"Hello," the redhead said. "You're Sylvia Thomas, aren't you?"

"Yes," Sylvia replied haltingly.

"My name's Brynne," she said, offering her hand. Sylvia shook it lightly and then Brynne broke away from her, sort-of pirouetting toward her green-colored four-poster bed on the other side of the room.

_She seems nice enough… but she's… well, __creepy._

"You're Rose?" Brynne asked brightly. Sylvia looked up from her bored self-conversation and saw Brynne standing right in front of Rose, who jerked horribly. Sylvia's face contorted as she tried not to laugh.

"Uh… hi?" Rose uttered.

"_Blimey, Rose_," groaned Sylvia. "Can you put your bloody book down for five seconds?"

"Don't tell me what to do," Rose snapped back, nevertheless discarding her book to the bed. Looking up at Brynne, she looked every bit as uncomfortable as Sylvia had felt.

"Is that our History of Magic textbook?" asked Brynne, looking around Rose's shoulder at where the latter had thrown the rather thick book onto the middle of her bed. "You read that for fun?"

"I read it so I don't have to depend on listening to Binns's lectures," said Rose wearily. "I fall asleep half the time."

"Really?" asked Brynne. "I don't have any problem staying awake for Binns's lectures."

"You're one of the only two people in Hogwarts, then," remarked Rose. "So what brings you here? Just curious to see what Gryffindor Tower looks like?"

"Yes," Brynne answered, her eyes darting around the room. "…Well, that, and I'm friends with James."

Rose turned to Sylvia ever so briefly, and then looked at Brynne again. "James? James Potter? My cousin, James?"

Brynne nodded.

"But…" Brynne muttered, her eyes suddenly downcast. "He's changed. Ever since we ran into Professor Malcolm yelling at Hufflepuff's Seeker…"

"What?" uttered Rose. Brynne immediately gave her a look of horror and clapped her hands to her mouth, backing away.

"No… if anyone asks, you didn't hear that from me… nope. Not me."

And she retreated to her bed, a bit like a turtle going back into a shell. Rose slowly turned her head to look at Sylvia, and each could tell the other was thinking the same thing.

_James sure has some strange friends._

"So what are you doing here, Iris?" Sylvia asked suddenly – anything to break the awkward silence.

It didn't work, exactly. Iris sort of made a mewling sound and didn't respond.

"Iris?" Sylvia repeated. She seemed to be… doodling or something with her quill. Sylvia frowned. "You know, it's rude to ignore people."

"Hmm?" Iris finally looked up. "Oh… I'm sorry, I didn't catch that…"

Sylvia growled audibly. Rose glanced at her and said, "Sylvia was asking why you'd come up here. Who do you know?"

"Um…" Iris murmured. "Nobody, really…"

Sylvia caught the accent and remarked, "You know… two months here and I think this is the first time I'm hearing you talk. Where are you from?"

"Ayr," she replied softly.

"Ayr?" Rose asked. "Scotland? That's a mainly Muggle city, isn't it? Are both your parents wizards?"

Iris shook her head. "My father's a Muggle. My mum's a witch, but…"

She shook her head again.

"I never knew until I got my letter," she went on. "Mum kept it hidden from us all these years. When I asked her why, she said she'd given up being a witch."

"'Given up' being a witch? What kind of sense does that make?" asked Sylvia. "You can't just 'give up' being a witch. It's in your blood. Literally. That's like saying, 'I'm done with this human thing. I'd rather be a toad instead…' that came out completely wrong."

Rose grimaced. "I think what she meant was… even if you lock your wand away and never use another spell again… you're still a witch. You're just a witch living like a Muggle."

"For what it's worth, I think that's kind of sad," Sylvia commented.

"You wouldn't understand!" Iris blurted out, suddenly looking close to tears. "She… she just couldn't take anymore. She wanted me to go here, though. 'Just because I chose not to live as a witch doesn't mean you have to.' That's what she told me. But I'm _scared_ – what if I'm as unhappy here as she was?"

"What happened to your mum?" asked Rose. "Were her marks not good or something?"

"You amaze me," deadpanned Sylvia. "Like bad marks are the worst thing that can happen to someone."

Iris sniffed. "But if I hadn't found out Aunt Marietta was a witch, too… and if I hadn't found out Donnie was coming here… I wouldn't have come at all."

The door swung open. Sylvia's eyes darted to the one empty bed in the room, and then back to the door. A Black girl came into the room, her face framed by swinging, dark plaits.

"I'm in the right place, right? Is this the first year girls' dorm?" she asked.

"You're late," Sylvia said, smirking. "_Really_ late. Pull up a bed."

"Nice to meet you, too?" the girl uttered in a questioning tone. "I'm Lilith. Lilith Cross."

"Sylvia Thomas," Sylvia answered. Before waiting for anyone else to introduce themselves, she added, "The redhead's Rose Weasley, the _other _redhead is Brynne Walter, and the really quiet one behind you that's _not_ a redhead is Iris Conrad."

"Iris?" Lilith turned around. "Oh. Didn't know you were coming here, too. How'd Flying class go?"

"Alright," Iris murmured, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Thanks for the pointers."

"No problem," said Lilith with a casual shrug of her shoulders.

"Oh, you fly?" asked Sylvia.

Lilith seemed nonplussed by Sylvia's question. "It's sort of required to pass first year, isn't it?"

"No, I mean, really _fly_," Sylvia corrected her. "Did you try out for your team?"

Lilith shook her head. "My parents didn't want me to until second year. Wanted me to focus on my studies first."

Sylvia's face twitched. "So can you play?"

"A little bit…" Lilith answered. "It's all for the best, though… I hear Auraleigh Conway's really been on the warpath since they took that loss to you lot… wasn't your brother in that game?"

She had turned to Rose, who had gone back to her book.

"Rose!" Sylvia shouted. Not only did it startle Rose (sending the book up into the air), but Iris jumped as well. "Lilith's trying to ask you a question."

"Hmm?" Rose uttered, a bit as if she did not want to be bothered.

"I was asking if your brother was in that game," Lilith asked.

"James? No… he's my first cousin," Rose said. "I do have a brother, though."

"Really?" Lilith asked, finally assuming a seat on her Hufflepuff-colored bed. "Do you have a big family?"

"You kidding?" Sylvia chuckled. "They're everywhere. Hogwarts is infested with Weas—that came out wrong..."

Rose's jaw unhinged about halfway in the silence. Brynne burst into laughter (Sylvia winced visibly), breaking the silence but not helping the awkwardness _at all_.

"There are… I think, six of us here at Hogwarts right now," Rose said. "No, eight… no… auggghhh… my cousin, Albus, and I just started this year. Then there's James… Then my other cousins, Freddy and Roxanne… and then Dominique and Victoire."

"Hey, I know her. She's in Ravenclaw House," Iris suddenly remarked. With a very childish simplicity, she added, "Boys follow her around all the time because they think she's pretty."

Sylvia and Brynne both muffled giggles. Rose signed resignedly and said, "Yes… that sounds about right."

"And I know Freddy," Lilith said, not sounding sure if she was entirely happy about it. "My sister's dating him. Still. I think…"

"Still?" Rose repeated. "Did something happen?"

"They've been arguing a lot," Lilith said matter-of-factly. "Freddy found out Laurel was taking some sort of Remedial Defence classes. Laurel's really proud about that sort of thing, so…"

She shook her head.

"Just as well," she added. "Our parents wouldn't allow it if they knew. All summer, they thought she was sending owls to all her old friends from Gobstones Club."

"She's in the Gobstones Club?" asked Sylvia, trying to suppress a laugh.

"She was," Lilith said, "but she quit at the end of last year. She only did it because our parents thought she should be part of something that wasn't just school. They're hoping she becomes a Prefect next year."

"It sounds like they've got high expectations," said Sylvia, frowning.

Lilith looked down at her knees. "I think they're starting to get to her…."

**Albus**

The conversations had died down as the night wore on. All of the boys were now lying down in their beds, but Albus lay wide awake.

"Hey, Scorpius," he muttered after a few moments.

"Huh?" The other boy's white-blond locks shone in the moonlight as he turned his head from the bed beside Albus'.

"You're an only child, right?"

"Uh-huh," Scorpius murmured. "My dad didn't even want _me_."

Albus frowned. He hadn't known that. "Scorpius…"

"I mean… my dad didn't want to have any children at all – definitely not a son," Scorpius answered. "He knew… even back then…"

Scorpius wasn't saying all the words, but Albus had a pretty good idea of what he meant. Draco Malfoy knew years ago that any children of his would have to face terrible persecution from the wizarding world. And it was Scorpius's misfortune to look almost exactly as Draco himself had looked in boyhood.

"And he was right, wasn't he?" asked Scorpius somberly. "No matter what I do to prove that I'm not a bad guy, I'm still a Malfoy."

"So that's why you disowned Slytherin House, is it?"

Tellius Nott was looking at Scorpius from the other side of the room. He had sat up and donned his spectacles, which were shining in _extremely_ creepy fashion from Albus's angle.

"I didn't know I belonged to Slytherin House," Scorpius answered.

"Slytherin House is in your blood," Tellius answered simply. "The Greengrasses are a Slytherin family going back three or four generations – and your father's side? Not only was your grandfather, Lucius, from a long line of Slytherins, but your grandmother, Narcissa, was from the House of Black by birth, and their heritage in Slytherin goes at least as far back as the eighteenth–"

"Don't lecture me about my own family tree, Nott – you think I don't know all that?" Scorpius snapped.

"I know you know," Tellius answered. "Whether or not you care is another thing entirely."

"Why should I care, then?" asked Scorpius. "In case you haven't noticed, I _don't want_ 'dark wizard' to be the first thing people think of when they hear the name Malfoy."

"And being a Gryffindor helps that perception?" Tellius looked away from Scorpius. "It's like I thought… you're just the same as everybody else."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Scorpius.

"_The bloody prejudice!"_ snapped Tellius.

"C'mon, Tellius, calm down…" muttered Phillip Bletchley, who had apparently been watching the entire scene in silence.

"No!" Tellius snapped immediately. "You're not some special case, Malfoy. Everybody that wears the Slytherin colors has to deal with the same thing."

"Your family didn't murder wizards by the dozens," Scorpius snarled. "Your grandfather was… what, a Death Eater scout, right? I bet he never even got his own hands dirty."

"Yeah, and they were Slytherins, too, weren't they? Most of the Death Eaters were, and most of the Slytherins that weren't Death Eaters had family members, or at least supported Voldemort's ideas," Tellius said, going white at the comment about his grandfather. "What happened after that? Slytherin's the House of pureblood supremacy and Dark wizards. That's all anyone's known about that House – _my _House – for near the last forty years! And you know it as well as I do. That's why you ran away from Slytherin to join Gryffindor."

"Do you need your ears checked?" Scorpius asked, jumping to his feet. "I don't belong to Slytherin. I never did. I'm a member of House Gryffindor, and you know what? I'm _damn _proud of it, too!"

This comment hung in the air for a while, astonishing Albus in particular. Two months around Scorpius and he'd never heard him use language quite that strong.

"So you got that checked off your list," Tellius sighed resignedly. "What's next in your great plan to rescue the Malfoy name? I'm guessing you're going to be an Auror? Help round up the next generation of Dark wizards, just to prove how Dark you're _not_? You wanna be the next Harry Potter?"

Scorpius glanced at Albus for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with Tellius's implication. Then, he rounded on Tellius again.

"That's stupid to say," Scorpius said, sitting down on his bed again. "What Dark wizard could I fight to have people call me the 'next Harry Potter'? There aren't any of those blokes left."

"You don't know that," Tellius muttered.

"Tellius, _shut up!_" Phillip uttered, sounding suddenly panicked.

"Well, we don't," Tellius answered calmly. "When Tom Riddle was here at Hogwarts, everyone thought he was the perfect student. Anybody could be the next Voldemort, you know what I mean?"

"It's all the same to me," Scorpius said. "I'm not here to be Britain's next fighting champion against the forces of darkness."

"What is it then?" Tellius asked, getting irritated.

The alarming focus seized Scorpius's grey eyes again. "I'm going to be a great Seeker – but not just any Seeker. I'm going to be the best in the world."

Tellius smirked. "Well, good luck with that," he said, getting back into bed. "I'd root for you, but, you know, you hate us Slytherins. Who wants to make friends with a snake, right? And for what it's worth…"

They all waited. Albus had the feeling this couldn't be anything good, even before Tellius spoke again.

"Harry Potter hated Slytherins, too."

And he didn't say a word the rest of the night.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: A Long Awaited Reunion**

The next several weeks were probably the worst Albus had ever endured. It wasn't the classes. He was earning passing marks in everything – even Defence, although that might have been because he simply did a better job of staying quiet and out of the way than his brother, who was (if he'd heard correctly) failing the course. Albus really didn't want to get into it, but that fact was making him suspicious of Professor Malcolm. James was _good_ at Defence – and he knew it, too. That's why he was usually the first one into a fight.

Desmond McLaggen came back to the dorms after the weekend. He was no longer pushing people around – at least not actively – but seemed unbelievably smug after his stay with Vaisey and the first year Hufflepuff boys. He had told the rest of them where he had gone, almost as if inviting them to probe further. Rowan finally did, but whatever McLaggen had found out during that weekend was top-secret, and he wanted them to _know_ it was top-secret. Albus was almost at a point where he couldn't even be bothered with him anymore.

He'd just had this awful, weirdly sick feeling. He ate quite enough – although not as much as Rowan _or_ Scorpius, who needed extra strength for the mad practice schedule the team had been set. Still, though, he felt somewhat empty. He didn't think Sylvia or any of the others really noticed. He supposed he always came off as quiet and thoughtful to everyone else around him, and he wasn't about to worry them by making it obvious that he wasn't himself.

Scorpius had become more and more subdued as the weeks went on, too. The difference was, Albus knew exactly what Scorpius's problem was, and it was the very opposite of his own.

Presently, Albus found himself peering from one of the huge windows in Gryffindor Tower. He could see a good part of the castle from here, and all of it was covered in white from falling December snow. It was the type of weather Muggles certainly would not have managed well.

He felt something catch in his throat and swallowed hard.

"Al?"

He didn't turn. He knew whose voice it was.

"Finished packing yet?" Rose asked.

All Albus could do was utter a short groan. Rose threw her arms around him tightly, which was almost enough to make Albus feel better.

"We'll be back home soon," she said simply. 'Soon,' she said. Somehow, for Albus, soon – even tonight – wasn't soon enough. He had wanted to go home ever since the Unity Weekend. He enjoyed his classes, but he was tired of everything else – tired of school bullies, tired of professors with dodgy motives, tired of people not willing to come up and talk to him like he was just another wizard. He had started to notice that, other than his friends and family and people who simply couldn't stand him, everyone else acted around him in a stilted, awkward manner that Albus just couldn't understand. He'd had an awkward situation indeed when Elizabeth O'Connell and he had been paired together to do some potions work. Albus ended up doing most of the work because Liz was too giggly to see straight or even read him any instructions. They passed, but at a terrible price; Sylvia (who had been paired with Scorpius and watching the whole thing from the other side of the room) was, for some reason, irate with him, and had given him the silent treatment ever since.

When Albus asked Scorpius, the latter (as he seemed to do fairly often) just shrugged his shoulders and said he had no idea. When Albus asked Rose, she flat-out told him that she was scared of what Sylvia would do to her if Rose told. The only problem was that whatever she had told Rose not to tell Albus, she thought Rose _had_ told Albus – so she avoided them both.

Long story short, he longed to go back to his family, where he was loved and people weren't avoiding each other… well, for the most part. Freddy and James hadn't spoken for a couple of weeks (which made their frequent Quidditch practices together awkward indeed). Something had happened with Freddy and Laurel Cross, and James apparently had something to do with it. Albus wasn't even going to _try_ to piece that story together. He had his own problems to worry about.

Albus thought the weather was fitting. Things had become unusually cold and brutal here at Hogwarts. He couldn't wait to get on the train, even if it would just be him, Rose, and James. Then, he thought with a pang – James might be with Murphy, and if not Murphy, then his other new friends. Maybe all of them. He hadn't told James about Tellius's little outburst toward Scorpius. He also hadn't told James about their father supposedly hating Slytherins. It sure didn't seem that way when he'd gotten on the train to come here back in September. It didn't seem much like Harry Potter hated Slytherins when he was trying to convince Albus that being a Slytherin wouldn't have been so bad. Then again, Harry Potter was the type of father that would do anything to put his children's minds at ease. Maybe he'd told Albus a little white lie…

_No_, Albus thought, mentally kicking himself. _Dad wouldn't do that. He wouldn't. _There was nothing for it. He had to know. When they saw each other next and had a moment, Albus would simply have to ask him.

But that was in the future.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked, shifting Albus toward him and putting her hand atop his forehead. "You're not ill or anything, are you?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Albus lied. Then, at a pathetic attempt at making conversation, he said, "You know Scorpius is staying here, right?"

Rose shook her head. "He wanted to, but he wanted to see his mum, too."

"Really?" asked Albus. "I thought he didn't want to go home."

"That's got nothing to do with his parents," Rose said. "Although they do visit his grandfather in Wiltshire and I'm sure that's always awkward…"

Albus hummed noncommittally. "Do you know what Sylvia's doing?"

"Going to visit her father's side of the family in London," she said. "They're all Muggles. She's not looking forward to it much."

He sighed. "It wasn't my fault I got paired up with Liz O'Connell. I would have chosen one of you three if I'd been able to. So why's she so mad at me?"

Rose shrugged her shoulders. Albus frowned; he had the feeling Rose knew, but just wasn't saying. A lot of people treated him like that – like he couldn't handle the truth for whatever reason. Trying desperately to keep his mind on anything else, he uttered, "What about Rowan?"

"Staying here," Rose said. "He and Nina are the only ones in our year, I think. The rest of us are going home – or, somewhere. Liz might have said something about a holiday to Ireland, but…"

She waved her hand dismissively.

"Anyway, you'd better go finish packing your trunk," Rose advised him. "We're supposed to be leaving for the station soon." Albus nodded.

A few minutes later, and with some difficulty, Albus had packed his trunk of things. He was glad his grandparents (from whom the trunk was an eleventh birthday present) had thought to magic the inside so that it was bigger than it appeared. Mind-bogglingly, his possessions seemed to have doubled between September and now. Once he (with Rose in tow) reached the stairs, he realized that he hadn't been the one to bring his trunk up to his room, and thus had no idea how to get it down without banging its wheels against every single step between here and the ground floor.

"Are we going to have to carry them the whole way?" he asked Rose, who gave him a look of blank astonishment.

"Are you a wizard or not?" she asked, pulling out her wand. Then it clicked in Albus' brain. It took all he had to stop from slapping himself in the forehead.

"Levitation Charm?" he asked. Rose nodded. Albus frowned. "Wouldn't _Propulso_ work bett—"

"Sure, if you want to send it through the nearest wall," Rose said, pointing her wand at her own trunk. "You need to be able to control something this big. _Wingardium leviosa!_"

And her quite large trunk hovered a few inches off the ground.

"Is it difficult?" Albus asked. "When it's that heavy?"

"You try it," Rose replied encouragingly – so Albus did. It took just a bit more effort than Levitating feathers in Professor Gladstone's classroom, but only just a bit. They walked slowly down the stairs, their floating trunks in their wake. Occasionally, one of the trunks would bump the other ("Mind the space!" Rose exclaimed) but other than that, they made the journey just fine, albeit slowly.

When they found their way to the Great Hall, they found the hulking, new caretaker, Mr. Vincent, overlooking a quite large pile of bags and trunks. He looked up at them.

"Don't tell me you carried those all the way down here?" he asked, his jaw slightly agape. Albus and Rose glanced at each other. Vincent smiled. "Ah, it's no problem – you're both first years, right?"

Albus and Rose both nodded, neither of them wanting to take a chance on getting a man this size upset.

"The bags are handled by the house-elves. Both ways," Vincent explained. "Except this lot can't be arsed with sortin' 'em… at least you won't have to pick your trunks out of this mess. On with you, then. They're already meeting at the courtyard."

Rose didn't need telling twice; although Mr. Vincent seemed pleasant enough, he didn't talk very much, and most students – even if they didn't admit it – were a bit afraid of him. As Albus guided his trunk past the huge caretaker, the two locked eyes.

"Hold on…" Vincent murmured. "Have I seen you before? You look [I]awful familiar…[/I]"

"M-maybe around the halls?" Albus said, not sure what to think.

But Vincent shook his head, going back to the large pile of trunks and bags before him, and murmuring to himself: "Couldn't be, ya prat… that was near twenty years ago."

Suddenly jolted about something, Albus asked, "M-Mr. Vincent?"

"Hmm?" the large caretaker turned around, seemingly taking several moments to do so because of his girth.

"You haven't seen another boy about my age come by here, have you?" Albus asked. "Pale, very light blond hair?"

" 'Course I have," Vincent replied. "Couldn't forget that face. Looked like the spitting image of… old school friend of mine."

He'd said the last few words at a mutter, almost as if he didn't want to speak on the matter.

"You went to school here?" asked Albus.

"Sure did," Vincent said, suddenly talking very quickly. "Years 'n' years ago, 'fore you were born – now, run along. They won't hesitate to leave without ya."

Albus did as told, but his curiosity got the better of him. Looking one last time over his shoulder, he saw an unsettling sight; the giant of a man had gone to his knees and doubled over, as if in silent but severe pain.

**James**

Being a second year had its advantages; one of those advantages was that older students got priority on compartments on the Hogwarts Express. He and Murphy picked one out (and, since he was still only a second year, there were only a few left) and claimed it for themselves. Moments later, Tellius Nott, Phillip Bletchley, and Brynne Walter all walked in, lugging along trunks. Brynne was struggling a bit to get hers through the door. James sprang up to help her and then sat down. Murphy was wearing a smirk on his face.

"What? Just being a gentleman," James muttered, looking uncomfortable. Almost as soon as she had claimed a seat, Brynne began to kick off her shoes.

"You really don't like shoes much, do you?" Tellius asked.

"How observant," deadpanned Phillip, who had sat nearby.

Brynne wiggled her toes a bit childishly as she looked down at her bare feet. "We'll be on the train for the next few hours, at least."

Murphy tilted his head. James just smiled and looked out of the window. Smoke was wafting from the engines, which had already started. Usually, once the first years had boarded, it was only a matter of time before the train started back to London. At least, that's how James understood it from all of his cousins that had made this trip several times.

His smile faded.

"Whatcha thinking about, James?" Brynne asked brightly.

"Oh… not much," James lied, making sure to give Brynne a small smile to put her at ease.

"Are you looking forward to seeing them?" Brynne asked. "Your family, I mean?"

James ran down the list of all of the aunts, uncles, and cousins he'd be seeing over the holiday – and there were quite a few of them. "Almost."

"Almost?" Brynne asked. "Why wouldn't you be happy to see your family?"

"Brynne, don't pry," Tellius said, talking as if to someone half his age.

"Shut it, Tellius," Brynne said rather forcefully. Phillip raised his eyebrows. "Some of us would be happy to have a family as big as James's…"

James frowned. Brynne never seemed terribly broken up about it, but the fact remained that, while Phillip and Tellius had both parents and most of their grandparents (Tellius's grandmother had died long before he was born), and Phillip himself apparently had a much, much younger sister, Brynne had one person in the entire world that she could call family.

"But my Aunt Flora and I are happy together," Brynne said, smiling. "I wonder if she's missed me at all?"

"Are you two close?" asked Phillip, who had other wizard relatives but wasn't particularly close to them.

"She's my only friend," Brynne answered. Light was filtering in through the window. Every highlight and lowlight in her blue eyes was visible as they darted around the compartment, settling on James for a half-a-second longer than anyone else. "Or… at least… she was."

James and Murphy were sitting close enough that their elbows were touching, so it was obvious to James (although maybe not to anyone else) when Murphy tried to nudge him. James ignored it.

"How very heartwarming," Tellius said a bit stoically, adjusting his glasses. "It's almost enough to make me vomit."

"Why do you have to be like that?" Phillip asked, a bit put off by Tellius's cold demeanor.

"I don't mean…" Tellius looked away from the rest. "I just don't like mushy stuff – that's all."

"You don't like a lot of things," Phillip remarked.

"Yeah, Tellius," echoed Brynne. "Why are you so serious all the time? You should learn to have some fun."

Tellius had always seemed like the strange, awkward one among James's new group of friends – and seeing as that group included Brynne Walter, that was saying a lot. But it was as if socializing didn't quite suit Tellius. He always seemed a bit lost when he was dealing with people, and James wasn't sure he'd seen Tellius on friendly terms with anyone outside of their circle.

THUMP. A moment after the sound (Brynne and James both jumped) the door to their compartment slid open. A witch that may have been about forty, if that, poked her head inside, then looked at the five students, who were all still wearing their school robes.

"Slytherins and Gryffindors in the same compartment? Merlin's beard, things have changed…"

"What, is there something wrong with that?" James asked loudly, jumping to his feet.

"[I]J.P., cool it![/I]" whispered Murphy from somewhere vaguely below him.

The witch smiled. "Oh, no. Of course not. It's just not something I would have seen much when I was coming up. Which one of you is James Potter?"

The other four looked at James.

"That's me," he answered.

"Really? You're Harry's son? I guess I do see the resemblance a little bit," the witch said.

James had to resist the temptation to roll his eyes. He actually looked vaguely a bit more like a Weasley child (minus the red hair) than a son of Harry Potter. He supposed, with three children, one would look much more like Dad, the other like Mum, and the third like both – or neither.

"Do you need me for something?" James asked. The witch smiled good-naturedly, looking particularly at the other four.

"I hate to deprive you all of your friend, but young Mr. Potter here won't be joining you for the train ride."

Brynne gasped audibly, while Murphy uttered an unmistakable, "Hold on – _what?_" James, meanwhile, had felt his heart drop somewhere into his belly.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble for anything," the witch said. "As far as Hogwarts goes, at least. Your parents have simply made other arrangements for your travel."

He made to follow the witch, but not before turning back toward his friends. "Um… bye."

"See you later," Phillip said, while Murphy echoed a similar sentiment from the opposite seat. Tellius, being his normal, stoic self, just nodded. Brynne, meanwhile, wasn't even looking at James, too busy rummaging around in a purse that James wasn't aware she had.

"Bye, Brynne," James said once. Then, realizing she was apparently off in her world again, he left to follow the witch.

"Uh… Brynne?" Phillip said after a couple of seconds. She zipped up her purse almost fast enough to start a fire.

"A quill – do any of you have a quill?"

James winced as he left the threshold of the train and stepped again into the open (and frigid) air of Hogsmeade station. Albus was standing there, too, with his trunk and talking to an obviously confused Rose and Scorpius as a wizard with a flat cap stood behind them like some sort of sentinel. The witch that had led him off the train bore down upon them. "Alright, you two, you'll see him again in two weeks. Hop back on the train before you're left behind."

Rose looked like she might give the witch a piece of her mind, but nonetheless followed Scorpius back onto the Hogwarts Express. James walked up at this point. "You too, Al?"

He looked a bit nervous. "Someone's coming to pick us up from here. Then… we're Apparating back home, I think."

James immediately understood why Albus was nervous; Albus hadn't ever traveled by Side-Along-Apparition before. James wasn't about to tell him that the first few times, at least, were a terribly uncomfortable experience. James himself had been sick the first time he had done it, about a year ago. He wasn't about to tell Albus that, either.

James winced again as a biting wind rushed through the area and chilled him to the bone, right through his heavy coat and all of his robes.

"I wonder why they didn't let us take the train back home?" asked Albus. "Home's closer from London than it is to here."

"Who knows?" muttered James, now irritated at this latest turn of events. He was missing out on what he hoped would be a fun afternoon with friends before pulling in to King's Cross and being whisked away to Ottery St. Catchpole by his family. "I hope they hurry up, whatever it is. I'm freezing my arse off out here."

"And I hope you don't talk that way in front of your Mum, because she won't like it at all," a man's voice said from vaguely behind the both of them. James's heart thumped against his chest –

"DAD!" Albus screamed exuberantly, latching on tightly to the tall, trenchcoated form of their father, Harry Potter.

James had to take a second to get over the shock, and he wasn't about to yell at the top of his lungs like he'd missed his dad all that much. After all, grown-up twelve-year-old wizards didn't do that sort of thing. Nevertheless, he leaned in to allow his father to hug him with his one free arm.

"Not causing any trouble, are you, boys?" Harry Potter, even in his late thirties, still looked quite youthful, especially since he'd apparently shaven very recently. His black hair sat wildly atop his head, not helped at all by the whipping wind. His eyes, though green and lively through his round spectacles, shone with the experienced glint of a man twenty years his senior. James felt his father shake his shoulder. "I do agree with you, though, James. This is quite awful, even for Hogsmeade in December. I'm glad I was able to convince Lily to stay home with Mum."

The two boys broke from their father to look up at him. Albus's eyes, so much like his father's, glimmered with what could only be called worshipful admiration.

"Albus, you prat! What are you doing standing out here!?" a girl's voice broke the moment. Albus whirled around. A girl dressed in very heavy winter things ran up to him, her black, wavy tresses flying literally every which way, and even getting in her eyes.

"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't call my son a 'prat', young lady," Harry's voice came serenely from above. "At least, not until he's done something to truly deserve it. Now, is there anything else we can help you with? Are you lost?"

James wasn't very sure Sylvia Thomas had heard much of anything his father had said. Midway through Harry speaking, Sylvia had put her hand to her mouth and used the other to point up at Harry's head. Her eyes were darting between him and Albus.

"Oh, my God… it's [I]you![/I]" she whimpered shakily. Albus's face was bewildered. Clearly he'd been hoping Sylvia would handle the inevitable first meeting with Harry Potter like a bit less of… well, a starstruck fan.

"Do we know each other?" Harry asked politely.

"You… did read my letters, didn't you?" Albus asked a bit quietly, as if desperate to hear a 'yes' for an answer. "This is my friend, Sylvia Thomas."

"Thom-_oh_!" Harry exclaimed. It hadn't taken long. "Hello, Sylvia. How's your father doing?"

"Just fine, thank you." James and Albus both jumped as tall, dark-skinned Dean Thomas popped into sight right behind Sylvia. Sylvia whirled around and let out an uncharacteristic high-pitched squeal as she literally jumped into her father's arms. When Dean finally put her down, she was wearing a grin that could have stretched from here to London. Dean's smile directed toward Harry and the boys wasn't nearly that wide, but it was warm and friendly nonetheless. "Hello, Harry. It's been a while."

"Too long, Dean," Harry answered. "How's the missus?"

Dean simply chuckled. "The usual… how about Ginny?"

"Nice and warm back at home with Lily," Harry replied, wincing. "I really should have brought earmuffs."

"Would've been a good idea," laughed Dean, turning toward the Hogwarts Express. "Who's that little girl?"

Sylvia gasped after looking in that same direction. "What's she doing?"

She was so well-covered that James didn't really get a good look at her until she approached closer. But the wind nearly stole her hat from her, and an array of dark red curls gave away her identity. Almost ignoring everyone else, she jumped off the platform and made a beeline right for James.

"What are you doing?" James asked in a bit of a panic. "Get back on the train before you get left behind!"

But the girl put a tiny, ripped piece of parchment into his hand, closed his fingers over it, and said, "Send me an owl if you can, okay?"

"Uh—" James uttered, not sure how to respond. She waved cheerfully at the others and leapt back onto the platform, heading for the train at a full sprint.

"That was… bizarre…" Dean commented.

"Trust me, it wasn't," Sylvia deadpanned.

The girl hadn't given herself much, if any, time to spare. The train, with a couple of short blasts, started to chug and roll its way out of the station, leaving the Potters and Thomases standing in a white cloud of smoke and snow.

Dean gazed after it wistfully. "Seems like just yesterday we were traveling back and forth on that thing, Harry."

"You, at least," Harry answered. "I never seemed to see much of the train during the holidays. Usually stayed at the castle or got to Ron's some other sort of way…"

"Ron here in Hogsmeade?" asked Dean. "At the shop?"

Harry shook his head. "I think it's George this week. Ron's down on Diagon Alley."

"Ah, well," said Dean resignedly. "I'll catch up with him one of these days…"

Harry nodded. "You know, you're still always free to come have tea with us if you can find a moment."

Dean laughed. "You know Romy's embarrassed to look you in the eye ever since the spiked chocolate incident…"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, that was _twenty years ago_," Harry groaned, although he was clearly smiling in amusement. "If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times – all's forgiven."

"Well, that's good to know. Speaking of the wife, though… I'd better get little lady here indoors before she catches a cold," he said, hugging Sylvia closer to himself. "Romy'd burn me at the stake."

"You know that doesn't work," Harry answered.

Dean gave Harry a humorously dark look. "This is Romilda we're talking about, Harry. She'd find a way to do it. Happy Christmas."

He nodded his head at the three of them, guiding Sylvia by the shoulder and leading her away. Sylvia turned around from under her father's arm and waved at Albus, who waved in return, looking happier than he'd appeared in a long while.

"Happy Christmas," Harry said toward Dean's back.

"Spiked chocolate?" asked James when the Thomases were well out of earshot.

Harry simply laughed, putting his hand around James's shoulder, "It's a long story, son, and you probably won't appreciate it until you get a little older. Or maybe you might… who was that little girl, and what was that gift she gave you?"

"Nobody," James answered much too quickly. "And I don't know."

He had nearly forgotten about it, but he opened up his fist, carefully holding onto the small strip of parchment so the wind couldn't kidnap it from him before he could read its contents. It said in very small, very slanted writing:

_Morgana's Orchard_.

"Morgana's Orchard?" muttered James. "Morgana… isn't she on Chocolate Frog Cards or something?"

"Yep. Famous witch from the Middle Ages," answered Harry. "Morgana's Orchard is a wizard community, much like Hogsmeade. Bit better weather, though. What do you boys say we get out of this blizzard and down to the Three Broomsticks?"

James and Albus didn't need to be sold on that idea at all.

James had been in Hogsmeade before, despite the fact that normally only third years and older could make the school trip. His father had brought him and his siblings once or twice – usually to their uncles' joke shop on High Street. The Three Broomsticks wasn't far from there, so he had seen it, but he had never been inside. He wondered for a moment whether the inn and pub were normally this inviting, or if the horrible cold had made him thankful for any level of shelter. Everything inside seemed to be bathed in a vague golden light. Even the shrunken heads – a feature James would have normally found extremely creepy – were much less frightening in this sort of environment. They stopped just short of being amusing, especially when another patron had failed to pull the door shut behind himself. One of the heads gave this particular wizard a severe tongue-lashing for his trouble.

As they made their way to the seats the server (an old barmaid named Rosmerta who seemed to be under the impression that she was every bit as good-looking as she had been some decades ago) had picked for them, James noticed that Harry was trying to keep his head down – quite literally. Harry being who he was, he had always found it a bit more difficult than other wizards to have privacy in a public place. At the same time, nobody much felt like going to St. Mungo's with their ears attached backwards from a hex, so after the initial rush of recognition, Harry Potter was usually left alone.

"I swear the both of you have grown at least a head since I saw you last," Harry commented after the three were finally seated. "You especially, Al."

Albus just grinned to himself, probably knowing (as James did) that their father was exaggerating just a bit. James paused for a moment, then he let the question fly…

"So, Dad… what gives?"

"What do you mean, James?" Harry asked.

"I mean… we were going to get on the train and meet you in London, but then you came here to Hogsmeade instead," James said. "Did something happen?"

"Actually, I just wanted an outing with my two sons," Harry answered with a smile. "We hadn't done anything like this properly since the beginning of last summer. And Lily's at home, getting some special time with Mum, so it all works out. If I'd known about the weather, I might have changed my mind… but we're here now, so might as well make the most of it."

James smiled. "So can I get a butterbeer?"

Harry laughed, as if he'd been expecting this question. "Maybe next year, son. There's no law against it and I'm sure Madam Rosmerta wouldn't mind… but I think your mum would feel better if you waited 'til you were thirteen. That's when she tried hers first, after all."

The glint never left James's eye. "Next summer, then? I turn thirteen in March."

Harry smiled knowingly. "I'll think about it. Are you going to tell me who your little friend was?"

"She's…" James uttered, not sure why he couldn't give a straight answer to his father. "A girl I know from school."

"Well, she came off the Hogwarts Express, so I think we sort of gathered that much," came a deadpan voice from James's left.

"Shut it, Albus," James snapped.

"Alright, now, Al… let's not tease him _too_ much," Harry chid his youngest son, although both were still smiling.

James sighed. "She's a friend of mine. Her name's Brynne. Brynne Walter."

"Really? What year is she?" asked Harry.

"First," James answered. "She came in with Al."

"Got to know the Great Hall floor really well, too," Albus said nonchalantly.

"Hey!" James snapped. "Those were her aunt's old robes and they were too big for her!"

"Aunt? Her aunt raises her?" Harry asked.

"Yes," James answered. "Ever since she was a baby. Her parents were…"

He trailed off.

"Hold on…" Harry said, leaning over the table and running a finger over his glasses. "Do you know her aunt's name?"

"Flora," James answered. "I think… Carrow?"

Harry's eyes widened for just a moment. "It's been that long already? Wow. So Brynne… is she a Slytherin?"

"Yes," James replied slowly.

"Is something wrong with being a Slytherin?" James had been thinking it so strongly, to hear it come out of his brother's mouth felt like Albus had been reading his mind. Harry regarded Albus with an astonished expression for a moment.

"Albus Severus, I thought we went over this already," he said, suddenly sounding stern. "There's _nothing_ wrong with being a Slytherin."

"Did you think that way when you were in school?" Albus asked, his face now white. Harry looked taken aback by this question, judging by the way his mouth fell open just a bit.

"No, Albus," he finally said somberly. "No, I didn't. But… we grow up. We learn things. And since I knew _nothing_ about being a wizard when I was your age… I had a lot of growing up and learning to do – and one of the things I learned… after a very long time… was that there are good and bad people in all of the Houses."

"No kidding," James answered. "There's this Gryffindor in Al's year that's on the Quidditch team, and he's a real git."

Albus gave a small squeak, as if he hadn't wanted James sharing this information.

"Really?" Harry Potter uttered, frowning. "What's his name?"

"Desmond," Albus answered in an undertone as if ashamed of the fact. "Desmond McLaggen."

Harry Potter's frown became more pronounced upon hearing the surname. "I'd bet my last Galleon, that's Cormac's son. He hasn't been giving you a hard time, has he?"

"I—" Albus uttered uncertainly.

"Of course not," James interrupted. "He knows better than that."

Harry gave his elder son an askance look. "What's that mean, James? You haven't been starting fights again, have you?"

"No… 'course not," James answered. "Nose all clean and everything."

"How about the House Cup?" asked Harry. "Have you been costing Gryffindor any points?"

"Gryffindor's in last place," James said nonchalantly.

Harry said, "That doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me," replied James, picking at the table uncomfortably. "I just can't do anything about it, so why worry? Malcolm's not going to be any more fair to me either way."

"Well…" Harry uttered haltingly. "I'm coming to do a guest lecture for some N.E.W.T. students right after the holidays. Maybe Professor Malcolm and I can have a little talk."

"Please don't," James pleaded, albeit a bit flatly. "I mean… unless by 'have a talk' you mean 'curse him into next century'…"

"Don't joke like that, James," Harry said sternly.

"Who said I was joking?" replied James. "Of course I _know_ you wouldn't hex a guy on sight… but I bet if he had any stones, he'd try to do you…"

"James Sirius," Harry said, sounding appalled. "How many times have I told you to have respect for the professors?"

"I have respect for the Professors," James said defensively. "But you're better than Malcolm is at his job and he knows it. He hates you for it. And he hates me because I'm your son –"

"Stop it, James. [I]Now,[/I]" Harry said, his green eyes flashing behind his glasses. "Listen, sometimes the Professors aren't nice people. I get that. I've been in your shoes before. But you can't assume the worst about them. Sometimes they… hide things – things they don't want anyone else to know about. I know things about Malcolm that you probably don't."

"That's a coincidence," muttered James savagely.

"Professor Malcolm was one of the most brilliant wizards to come out of Hogwarts since your Aunt Hermione," Harry said seriously. "Everyone had him pegged for an Auror when he graduated. He had all the N.E.W.T.s needed and then some. So why didn't he do it?"

James folded his arms. "He couldn't stand the thought of working for you?"

Harry hesitated. "He said he preferred being a teacher… because he loved Hogwarts. He wanted to go back, to build into the future."

"Didn't you love Hogwarts, too?" asked Albus. "Didn't they want you to come teach Defence and be a Professor there?"

Harry's smile returned, although it was an apologetic one. "I prefer to be an Auror, Albus."

"Well, maybe you should tell Malcolm that, so he doesn't think you're after his job," James said sourly.

"Why would I be after his job?" asked Harry. "I'm one of the people that recommended him."

"Well, you can be wrong about things, too, can't you?" James blurted out without thinking. Albus turned to stare at him, eyes wide in shock and horror.

But Harry simply nodded and said, "Nobody's perfect, James."

This answer wasn't good enough for James, who retreated into silence taking one thing from the conversation: Harry Potter believed that, whatever his faults, Professor C.B. Malcolm was a skilled wizard and essentially a good man. Harry Potter believed anyone could make a mistake, but in this case did not believe that he had made one.

Which meant that Harry Potter, at least in this instance, could not be relied upon for help.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18: Gifts and Gatherings**

James took in a gasp of air as if surfacing from underwater. He felt the strong grip of his father's hand on his shoulder and nothing out of the ordinary with his body.

"All right then? Everything still attached?"

He heard his father's voice and opened his eyes to take in the sights and sounds of his home.

A few years after marrying and living in an old wizard house in London (an experience neither of them enjoyed much) Harry and Ginny Potter decided to have a house built in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, close to The Burrow where Gran and Grandad Weasley still lived to this day. Although The Burrow was a bit run-down and would never be mistaken for the grandest piece of wizard architecture, Ginny had grown up in that house, and Harry had spent many a holiday there, so both of them held fond memories of the place. In fact, it seemed that the Potter House (which had no pithy nickname besides just that) was a bit like The Burrow's grown-up, more well-to-do daughter. It was a bit more spacious and a bit less chaotic, but nonetheless had a humble, warm, and inviting quality that meant that there was more than enough room and hospitality to go around for the family, as well as the occasional visitor.

James glanced over to Albus, who was teary-eyed, with his hand to his mouth.

"All right there, Al?" asked James, only half-mockingly. "Did you miss home that much?"

Albus didn't answer – he had gone an awful shade of green. Hand still over his mouth, he wrested himself free of his father's loose grip and darted away, presumably to the toilet.

Harry's brow furrowed. "At least we hadn't eaten yet…"

"I told him to hold his breath," James said mournfully. "That's what makes it easier for me."

At that moment, James noticed a red blur dart down from upstairs, giving off a high-pitched "_Eeeeeeee!"_ like an ascending firecracker before slamming into James's chest and almost knocking him flat.

"You're home! You're home!" Lily Potter squealed, hugging James around the middle.

"Yes, I'm home," said James, who was truthfully a bit too tired to respond to his little sister's exuberance in kind. From over the top of Lily's mane of flaming ginger he saw another smiling face framed by red hair. "Hi, Mum."

Lily finally let go of James, gave Harry a hug and doubled back to meet Ginny, who approached James and embraced him in short order. People always said it was almost uncanny how much Lily looked like her mother had as a small girl, and at no point was the resemblance more clear than when the two stood next to each other. Except for the fact that her ears were her father's (a nominal difference, really), Lily _was_ Ginny as Ginny had looked some twenty-five years ago. Ginny let go of James to put her arms around her husband, whom she kissed full on the mouth. Lily, now hiding behind Ginny and out of sight, stuck out her tongue toward James in an expression of mock disgust. James had to try his hardest not to laugh.

"How was the weather, dear?" James heard his mother ask his father.

"Cold enough to freeze the feathers off a hippogriff's back. They're not even using magic to chill the butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks," replied Harry. "They're just setting them outside for a minute or two."

James knew his father wasn't exaggerating because he'd actually seen it happen earlier that day.

"Wait…" Lily blurted out all of a sudden, looking around in very exaggerated fashion. "Where's Al?"

Ginny's expression changed. "Where _is_ Albus?"

"Apparating didn't agree with his stomach," said Harry, grimacing.

Just then, Albus Potter emerged from behind a wall, still looking a bit off-color and wearing a grimace almost identical to his father's. His eyes, however, brightened upon seeing Lily, who was already running toward him. He caught her in his arms and tried to lift her off the ground, which only ended up looking awkward because Lily wasn't that much smaller than Albus. The thought was there, though, and Lily clung to Albus just as she had clung to James a few minutes earlier.

"Careful, Lily," Harry admonished her. "He's not well."

"I'm fine," said Albus. "Just as long as I never have to Apparate… _ever again_."

"Albus?" Ginny called softly.

Albus let go of Lily. James caught his mouth quivering for just a split second. "Mum."

And he ran to Ginny and buried his head into her chest.

**Albus**

Albus's room had once been far too large for him, but that had been by design. Now that he was almost twelve, it seemed almost perfect. The bed, which had been colossal when they had first bought it, now had just enough room below the feet for a growing boy to be going on with. Upon entering the room, he noticed several things. The first was that someone – probably his mother – had taken special care to make sure that the room was spotless and the bed pristine upon his arrival. As thankful as he was for this, he wasn't sure how he felt about living in it for two weeks. It seemed much _too _sterile – unnaturally so, more like one of the beds in the rooms the Potter House usually reserved for short-term guests. The second thing he noticed brought a smile to his face; a large, scarlet plaque bearing the golden Gryffindor lion hung on the wall atop his bed. He mused for a moment as he sat down and gazed out of the window, how different it would look if his room now bore the green-and-silver snake crest of Slytherin House – or one of the other two Houses, for that matter.

It was strange. Now that he was home, he found that as glad as he was to be here, he wasn't as happy to be away from Hogwarts Castle as he thought he would be. True, his mind needed a break from classes and from all the other things that were going on; but after about three months of being joined to the hip with Scorpius and Sylvia (Rose, of course, was nothing new), not having them around felt strange. At least whatever Sylvia thought he had done to her, she had forgiven him. That's what it had looked like, in any case.

THUMP. THUMP.

"Come in!" Albus said loudly. He heard the door creak open and then felt his bed shift underneath him as if someone had leapt on the other side. A second later a pair of arms seized him around the collarbone. "Hi, Lily."

Lily slid over to Albus's side, giving him a wide grin. Albus immediately noticed a gap in her smile. A tooth of hers had evidently fallen out since he'd been gone, and another had grown in its place, but only halfway.

"Is your stomach better?" she asked simply, patting his belly.

"Great, now I've had something to eat," said Albus. Gran Weasley had taught their mother how to cook – which was a good thing, because their father, even by his own admission, was awful at it.

Lily tried to shift over onto her brother's knees, but Albus nudged her off.

"You know you're getting too big for all this," he sighed.

"I don't care," Lily whined defiantly. "You're only here for two weeks, and then you're not coming back until the summer."

Albus sighed and allowed his two-years-younger sister to plop herself into his lap. They looked out of the window together in silence. The snow had reached them, and was starting to coat the grass outside in a veil of white. Albus's thoughts wandered to Rose and Scorpius, who were probably pulling into King's Cross Station in London right about now.

"Are you having fun?" Lily asked. "At Hogwarts?"

Albus laughed briefly. He wasn't sure 'fun' was exactly the right word. "It's… never dull. What about you?"

Lily latched onto Albus even tighter. She looked sad.

"It's lonely," she replied.

"You don't see Hugo anymore?" he asked. She shook her head.

"He goes to the shop with Uncle Ron. Sometimes, Gran or Mum take me there, but…"

Albus didn't answer.

"I don't want to be here anymore," Lily whined. "I don't get it. Why d'you have to be eleven to go to Hogwarts? It's not fair."

Albus already knew why; and he already knew that the reasons weren't meant for Lily's young ears.

"When you get there, you'll understand," Albus said. At this, Lily hopped off Albus's knees, folded her arms, and pouted.

"That's the same thing Mum said," she groused.

"It won't be long for you," Albus said, although he knew this wouldn't be much comfort. "You'll be there before you know it."

Albus expected Lily to stomp off in a huff, but she didn't. Instead (and alarmingly), she put her head down and began to sniffle.

"Now that Kreacher's gone… I don't really have any friends here," she murmured morosely… and with that, she darted from the room, as if ashamed to let her brother see her crying. Albus sighed loudly, staring out the window again. While living in a small wizarding village with mostly family as opposed to a bustling city community like London wasn't the worst thing in the world (especially for families like the Potters, who would attract too much attention), it did have its drawbacks. For some strange reason, wizard children that weren't related tended not to see very much of each other before school. Any friends a young wizard or witch made, were usually made at Hogwarts. This was especially true for the Potters, who usually went out of their way to be inconspicuous.

Albus knew why that was as well; Harry Potter had spent nearly his entire life with a large spotlight on him. It wasn't that he tried to be high-profile all the time. It was more like he simply couldn't avoid it if he tried. Albus got to his feet. It would do no good thinking about it so much. He needed to find something to occupy himself. Maybe he could coax James into a game or two of Exploding Snap or chess. James would probably prefer Exploding Snap because Albus always beat him at chess… although neither one of them were as good as Hugo Weasley, who had learned from his father and could beat both of them handily despite being so much younger.

As Albus stepped into the hallway, he noticed immediately that both of the other doors were closed; poor Lily was probably crying herself to sleep. As for what James was doing with his door shut, Merlin only knew. Maybe he was simply asleep. Or going over one of his textbooks…

Albus chuckled to himself. "Of course not."

Muffled voices could be heard from downstairs, though; his parents were talking.

Albus inched closer to the stairwell, then took one step down at a time. He could hear his parents' voices growing louder. They were obviously somewhere in the den – maybe sitting in front of the fireplace. Their voices were very hushed – Albus had the feeling that they were having a private conversation. Then again, if they were, they had ways that they could keep Albus or his siblings from hearing anything. Albus knew because James spent the better part of his childhood trying to beat those ways. Albus inched down another step or two, until he could barely see through a crack between the posts on the wooden banister. His mum and dad were sitting in front of the fireplace, just as he'd thought. Her hand was around his shoulder.

"Heart attack… shouldn't be surprised, he never did take care of himself… I don't know, Ginny," Albus heard his father say, a bit desperately. "What should I feel? It'd be awful to be happy about it, wouldn't it? But I can't be sad, either… I mean, he was awful to me."

"My great-aunt Muriel was rather rude to everybody," she replied. ("Too right, she was," Harry muttered) "Still, though… nobody was really happy about having to bury her. Family is family, and he was…"

"Not of mine," Harry answered, and he sounded bitter. "I mean… the things he put me through… The older I get, I thought I'd be past it by now, but the older I get, the worse it becomes. I mean… how can a man with a soul _do that_ to a young boy? If I was asked to take care of Dinah and Derrick, for whatever reason, I'd _never_…"

"I know you wouldn't," Ginny answered softly. "You're a better man than he was."

Harry sighed heavily into the encroaching silence. "Well, Dudley did invite me. Rather thick of him, come to think of it. Then again, he wasn't ever one of the world's great minds…"

Ginny tried to stifle a laugh.

"What about your aunt?" she asked, her face serious again. "I imagine she's taking it quite rough. And you haven't spoken to her in…"

"…Twenty years," Harry said heavily. "Last thing I remember about her was standing in their house, and she opened her mouth to say something, but… never… never said it."

Harry had gone white for a moment. He then heaved a sigh.

"That's the whole point, isn't it? I suppose I'll have to go, then…" he said.

"Do you want us –?" Ginny started to ask. Harry visibly shook his head.

"It's just one of those things…" Harry said grimly. "I'm not sure how she'd react to an entire wizard family showing up at once. We might end up having to put _her_ in the ground next."

"Oh, Harry!" Ginny cried, slapping his shoulder. "You're terrible."

Harry allowed himself a bit of a chuckle. "We'll see what happens. Maybe she's interested to know if I have a family. Maybe she doesn't care. Granted, I'm sure Dudley's filled her in enough that she knows you all _exist…_"

"Speaking of the kids…" Ginny mentioned. "They're awful quiet, don't you think?"

"The boys are probably tired," reasoned Harry. "Albus ate well enough, but maybe he's still not feeling well, either…"

"Or maybe…" Ginny suggested. "They're sitting on the steps listening to our conversation."

Ginny pulled out her wand and aimed it toward the steps. Albus winced.

_Uh-oh…_

"_Homenum revelio!_" the red-haired witch said loudly. Albus felt… nothing. Had the spell failed? "That's what I thought. _Al?_"

Grimacing, Albus ducked into view and came down the stairs. His mum was stalking over to him, her hands on her hips. She looked a bit – okay, a _lot_ – like Gran whenever she was irritated.

"Albus Severus Potter," Ginny said. Albus winced again – he hated having his whole name spoken. "You know better than to eavesdrop on private conversations."

"It's alright, Ginny," Harry said reasonably. "If I really wanted to keep him from hearing, I could have."

"It's still rude," Ginny said. Her expression softening (a bit), she added, "…And not like you at all, Albus. Is everything alright?"

"Sure," Albus said, wishing he didn't sound so uncertain. Deciding it would do no good to pretend like he hadn't heard anything, he asked the only question that made sense, "Dad… did something happen to Dinah and Derrick?"

Not that he particularly cared; he wasn't close with that side of the family, especially since he couldn't talk about anything related to the wizard world whenever his father took him to visit. Dinah and Derrick Dursley, on the other hand, could only talk aout their Muggle computer games and the like. Each of them might as well have been speaking French to the other.

"Well, no, not exactly," Harry answered. "But their grandfather – my uncle, Vernon…"

Harry said the last couple of words with a seeming reluctance.

"He died earlier this week," he finished heavily. "So I'll be going to the funeral tomorrow. It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Did you see the new decorations in your room?" asked Ginny, in an all-too-obvious attempt to distract Albus further.

"I did," Albus said, nonetheless smiling and playing along. "Thank you."

"What are Lily and James doing?" Ginny asked.

"Not sure about James," Albus answered. "But Lily's in her room. I think she's kind of down."

Ginny sighed. "She's been like that ever since Kreacher died. It's hard to watch. Hopefully she'll feel better when she sees what we got her for Christmas."

Albus tilted his head. "What _did_ you get her for Christmas?"

Ginny turned back toward Harry, who gave her a sort of resigned shrug. Ginny rounded on Albus, trying to stay stern but hiding a smile. "You promise – _promise – _not to tell Lily? Or James, for that matter. He's awful at keeping secrets."

Albus nodded. "Sure."

"Okay," Ginny answered, moving in the direction of Albus's ear. "Well, your father and I decided…"

**James**

With a yawn that might have shaken the entire house, James Potter sat up in his bed and stretched his arms wide. Ten seconds proved not to be nearly enough to clear the early-morning cobwebs as his door burst open and something knocked him flat in a half-hug, half-tackle.

"James! James! Get up! Get up!" Lily squealed. "It's _Christmas_!"

"Okay… _ow_," groaned James as Lily, still in her nightdress, climbed off him. Standing in the open doorway to James's room and looking apologetic, was Albus.

"I tried to get her not to do that," he said a bit sheepishly. "But she's stubborn as always."

Lily responded by turning around and blowing a raspberry at her other brother.

"Don't you want to see what gifts we got?" asked Lily excitedly.

"Yeah, James," said Albus. "Hurry up."

"Fine, fine, I'm coming," James grunted grouchily, swinging his legs out of the bed. "Hold your bloody hippogriffs… Merlin's…"

"You lot awake yet?" Ginny's voice echoed from somewhere not far.

"Coming, Mum!" Albus exclaimed, turning his head down the hallway. Lily bounded across the room and blazed past Albus in the doorway, almost knocking her over.

"She's… peppy," uttered James.

Albus rolled his eyes. "You think this is bad?"

And he departed down the hallway, leaving James to follow him.

The three Potter children (Lily sandwiched in between her two brothers) sat in a line on the largest couch. Their tree was quite large enough, and had a rather healthy mulch of wrapped gifts at its base. James (his arm around Lily's shoulder) tried his best to play it cool. Albus was a bit more on edge than his normal, reserved self. Lily stared ahead with wide, brown eyes like… well, like a small child on Christmas morning. James's eyes immediately found a rather strange-looking box with a handle. It seemed to have been wrapped on its front face, and then whoever had sent the gift had obviously been too lazy to finish the rest. In any case, it stood out because James didn't remember seeing it under the tree when he'd gone to bed the night before.

"Merry Christmas, all of you," Ginny said warmly. She was still in her night things as well. Harry, on the other hand, was wearing a quite heavy jacket and looking like he'd just come inside from the cold. His hair was messier than usual, and that was saying something.

"Merry Christmas, Mum," Albus and Lily chorused. James echoed a second later.

"Well, you know how this goes… Harry?" Ginny stopped her spiel to turn around and look at her husband, who seemed to be counting the presents under the tree.

"Fourteen, fifteen…" he muttered. Then, tearing across the room, he muttered, "Bloody hell."

He stomped up the stairs, obviously having forgotten something or another.

Ginny stared at the staircase for a brief moment, then turned back to the children. "He'll be back in a minute. Lily? You first as always."

Since Lily was the youngest and the only girl, she got to open her presents first, ostensibly to teach the boys chivalry. But James knew better. Lily was the most fidgety and the most impatient of the three, and everyone in the family knew that. It wasn't like James cared much. He didn't want to look too eager, after all.

Lily attacked the first box with gusto and pulled out a blue, spangled child-sized witch's hat, as well as a cloak that appeared to match. Her mouth widened in a surprised smile.

"That's from Aunt Hermione. She said she thought you'd like it," Ginny said.

Lily stared at them in her hands for a while before Albus exclaimed, "Well, go on – try them on!"

With their mother's help, Lily fitted the cloak and hat onto herself. They fit her perfectly, although the contrast made her already ginger hair look even redder. Still wearing the new garments, she opened her other presents. From Uncles Ron and George, she received what appeared to James to be a replica of the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. She switched it for her witch's hat and placed it on her head. It shouted very loudly, "SLYTHERIN!" – at which point James _knew_ it was a joke item from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Brynne, possible, but Lily, a Slytherin? That was stretching it. (Especially since, on the second try, the hat yelled, "RAVENCLAW!" just as loudly.) From the Scamanders, who were close friends of the Potters – well, the wife was, at any rate – Lily received a book: _Magical Creatures of Romania_. Why Romania? Had the Scamanders gone out there on work or holiday? James wouldn't have put it past them. After all, anytime his parents mentioned them, they were _never_ in Britain. _Never_.

"Your turn, Al," Lily said, wearing the cloak and Sorting Hat ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), holding her blue witch's hat in one hand and the book in the other.

"Wait, _wait_, Lily, you've got one more," Ginny implored her. Then, raising her voice to a very loud shout, she yelled, "HARRY, STOP MESSING AROUND AND GET DOWN HERE!"

The two Potter sons looked at each other, grimacing.

POP!

Lily screamed. Ginny followed suit, hand over her chest. Even Albus had gone white, his green eyes wide. Harry had suddenly materialized right between them all. Ginny slapped his arm. "Don't _scare_ me like that!"

It didn't matter if one _knew_ someone could Apparate… when they did so right in the middle of the room without preamble, there was simply _no_ preparing for it. Lily looked at her parents suspiciously, and she was probably thinking the same thing James was – why did Dad have to be here right this second?

"Okay," Ginny said, finally catching her breath. "Lily? This is from us. Happy Christmas."

She pointed out the half-unwrapped box, which now seemed to be… moving a bit. Lily regarded it with bewilderment for a half-second before kneeling down and tearing the cover off the box's face. It had… doors. _Weird_, thought James. Lily opened one of the doors, peered inside, before shutting it with a snap and gasping nearly all the air out of the room. She looked up at Ginny and Harry for a moment and then buried her face in her hands and instantly started to cry.

"Shhh… it's okay, it's okay," Ginny whispered, kneeling next to her daughter and holding her. Casting a glance over Lily's head at the boys, she said, "Go on, Al."

So Albus (thoroughly unperturbed by Lily's strange reaction, almost as if he'd seen it coming) started on his own presents. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione had gotten him a new set of scales (the ones he'd been using for Potions were his mother's old ones and falling apart a bit). Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur had sent him what looked like wizarding coins from several different countries. James simply wondered what the lot of them was worth in Galleons.

Lily emerged from Ginny's chest and had finally gathered herself enough to claim her present. Albus quickly stopped rummaging through the coin purse and looked on as Lily opened the door, reached her trembling hands inside, and produced a small, furry, ginger-as-her-hair kitten.

James grimaced. As happy as he was to see Lily happy, he didn't know how he felt about sharing his house with a cat. Judging by the expression on its face as Lily hugged it tightly, the cat wasn't entirely certain about this arrangement, either. But Lily was positively over the moon.

"Hey, Al, you've got one more," said Harry. Albus opened the gift from his parents: a rather impressive, gold-inlaid wand sheath. Albus let out a laugh of delight. "Got that custom-made by the bloke who did mine. I couldn't get it until I knew what size your wand was."

"Wicked!" whispered Albus, making no attempt to hide his excitement.

"You next, James," Ginny called. James hesitated for a moment until she added, "Stop playing coy – you're not impressing anyone."

"Yeah, James," echoed Albus a bit cheekily. "Since when'd you become too cool for Christmas presents?"

"Shut it, Al," deadpanned James, picking up one of his gifts. Reading the package, he noticed the name. "It's from Uncle Charlie. Since when did Uncle Charlie start sending Christmas presents?"

James hadn't seen his Uncle Charlie in a year to the day. He made a living studying dragons in mainland Europe. Last James had heard of Uncle Charlie, he was somewhere in Scandinavia…

"Oh, just open the bleeding thing already…" Albus muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Albus, _stop it_," Ginny said sharply. James sighed and tore the wrapping from the box. Inside the small, white box was a note.

_Dear James,_

_It took a while, but I finally got the news about you making the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Your mum sent me a letter as soon as she found out. _

James muttered the next line to himself and sniggered loudly.

"What?" asked Ginny, already sounding defensive.

"'Three owls and a mountain goat'? Really, Mum?" James quoted from the letter, resisting an urge to burst into laughter.

"Well… getting post out to Uncle Charlie takes some doing," Ginny said haltingly. "He's out in the middle of nowhere."

"You mean 'Norway'," mentioned Albus, looking over James's shoulder at the letter.

Ginny lowered her eyebrows in a deadpan expression. "Like I said, 'the middle of nowhere.' Oh, but that's not important, James – look at what he got you!"

James finally turned his attention to the actual present, which was in a long, white box. He opened the box and lying inside was a padded setting for what looked like an armguard. James recognized it as Quidditch equipment.

"Whoa, that's wicked!" Albus exclaimed, reaching a hand towards it.

"_Geroff_, Al!" snarled James, clutching the package closely and turning his back to his younger brother. He removed the armguard from its setting and ran a hand over it. It was hard, glossy, and darkest black, yet shone brilliantly with reflections from every light source possible. In fact, if one turned it a certain way, it looked like it was giving off faint colors all its own. "This is… dragon scale!"

"That's not cheap," commented Ginny. "He said he had something special in store for you and Freddy… you two are the first Quidditch players in the family since I graduated."

"Could've used one of _those_ my second year," commented Harry, who had been noticeably silent this entire time. "You remember that match?"

"Of course I remember that match," said Ginny, sounding affronted.

"You think this'll protect my arm against a Bludger?" James asked after putting it on (it was a perfect fit, naturally), looking between both of his parents. Harry clapped him on the shoulder, wearing a bit of a smile.

"Dragon scale's tough to penetrate, son. Just… take my word for it," he said. "I'd much rather not have to test it, though… prefer it if the Bludgers couldn't hit you at all, in fact…"

And, with that, he went around behind the couch and produced…

"_No_," whispered James in astonishment. Albus gave a bit of a groan behind him.

"…Yes," said Harry, no longer able to hide a grin as he presented James with a brand-new broom. James looked it over. It was a Cleansweep X-V with perfect flaxen twigs, its long, wooden handle stained Gryffindor scarlet. The brand name was engraved in golden lettering toward the tail of the broom, and along its handle, in small, gold lettering, was his full name: _James Sirius Potter_. "I thought about the Firebolt, but…"

"Cleansweep's the better brand now, anyway," said Ginny a bit smugly. Harry looked at her askance, and James knew why; Harry had flown a Firebolt for the better part of his Quidditch career at Hogwarts. "Well… Firebolt's gone mad ever since their second model came out back in '08. When you had one, they were good Quidditch brooms, but now they're just glorified racing brooms. Speed, speed, speed… no more control anymore, and you need a broom that handles well to be a good Chaser – unless you've got superhuman reflexes."

James decided he was going to trust his mother's judgment. After all, she'd been reading _Which Broomstick_ for longer than he'd been alive.

"Are you going to wear that all day?" Albus asked James in irritation. James simply rolled his forearm again, showing off his new dragon-scale bracer. He, Albus, and Lily had elected to walk the short distance between home and their grandparents' house at The Burrow. It was cold, but not snowing – although the ground was white from a snowfall a couple of days earlier.

"Why not?" James replied.

"Because nobody likes a show-off – that's 'why not'," Albus uttered.

"Well, maybe you should try out next year," James argued. "Then you can make the team, and Uncle Charlie can send you one, too. Besides, you've got your wand with you in that case thing…"

"It's not a case, it's a sheath," Albus retorted. "Dad said so. And every wizard carries his wand around with him."

"You know we can't do magic outside of school," James mentioned.

"It's good practice, though," Albus reasoned. "Professor Gladstone says so…"

"At least you get to take your presents with you," Lily groused from the back… wearing her witch's hat. Looking over her shoulder, she said, "Fiamma must be getting so lonely…"

"Do cats come out when it's this cold?" asked Albus.

"You'd better hope all your blankets are in one piece when we get home," chuckled James sinisterly.

"She's too small. Her claws haven't even come in," Lily said. "She can't hurt anything."

Lily and Fiamma had been together just long enough for Lily to give the little, ginger cat a name, and yet Fiamma was already an angel that could do no wrong. James sighed to himself; the coming summer was probably going to be a _long_ summer.

"She can have a good pee, though – never too small to do that," James laughed. "Hopefully it's not on anything important."

"_James_!" Lily exclaimed, sounding remarkably like their mother. "Don't be so rude."

"Rude? How's that rude?" asked James. "It's a natural bodily function."

Lily gave a squeak like a mouse being trodden on. She looked to Albus. "Al?"

"Well… he's sort of right," replied Albus, grimacing.

"Just so you know, Lil," James intoned. "Fiamma's _your_ cat, not 'our' cat. Don't come banging down my door asking me for help if you can't handle her."

"I'll be just fine without your help, thank you very much," Lily said sourly. "You're leaving in a week, anyway."

"Why is everyone arguing?" Albus asked. "It's Christmas, after all. All of our aunts and uncles and cousins are going to be here."

"All? Not sure about that," James said skeptically. "Seems like we always miss one or another. Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur go to visit Aunt Fleur's family in France every other year. Uncle Charlie doesn't show up every year, either. Uncle Percy's working half the time… where's Teddy?"

"He'll probably stay with his gran," Albus reasoned. "She's all by herself otherwise…"

"He's family, too," James said hotly.

"Sort of," Albus replied.

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?" James asked. "He might not be a Weasley or a Potter, but I'm pretty sure he's Grandad's… fourth cousin three times removed or something."

Albus grimaced. "Probably closer related to Scorpius than us."

"Scorpius?" repeated James. "It's a small world… but how do you figure Scorpius is related to Teddy?"

"Somebody talking about me?"

The three Potter children stopped and whirled around. Standing there was a tall, thin, young man of a bit less than twenty. Today, he had short, black hair. His hair, face, and even height could change upon his command… but his voice usually stayed the same, and it was by that voice that the Potter children knew him.

"Teddy!" squealed Lily, jumping into the youth's arms. He set her down after a second or two and then looked at the boys.

"Don't try it. I can barely lift Lily now," he chuckled. James scoffed a bit – as if he'd do something childish like that. Tapping James on the head, Teddy Lupin laughed, "You've grown a couple of inches, James. You're gonna be as tall as I am soon."

Albus wasn't so sure about that (Teddy was even taller than his own godfather, Harry) but he supposed it was the sort of thing adults said to children. Although, deep down, it was hard for Albus to think of Teddy as an 'adult' – they had all grown up together, with Teddy coming to the house at least once (and then at least twice) every week for as long as Albus could remember. He was just a bit older than they were. Not to mention, his bright eyes and sense of humor made him seem a fair bit younger than… nineteen? Twenty? Albus couldn't remember right off.

"Hey, Teddy, look at this," said James, showing off his armguard. "Uncle Charlie gave it to me for Christmas." Teddy's already wide eyes went even wider.

"Wicked!" Teddy, who had been no slouch as a Seeker during his Hogwarts days, exclaimed. "He's the one that studies dragons, right? I guess it'd make sense that he could get his hands on dragon scales."

"Where've you been, anyway?" asked Albus as they started walking again. "We've been home almost a week."

"Um… see…" Teddy stammered.

"I know where he's been," Lily piped in, an uncharacteristic knowing tone in her voice. "You've been to Shell Cottage, haven't you? Haven't you, Teddy?"

Shell Cottage was the home of Bill and Fleur Weasley – and by extension, also the home of Victoire Weasley, whom James had caught snogging Teddy the last time they had seen each other.

"Only once!" Teddy exclaimed defensively, going pink. Looking down, he muttered, "…Or twice."

"Oh, brother…" James rolled his eyes and turned his back on Teddy.

"What's all that, huh, James?" asked Teddy. "You don't have a girlfriend?"

"What? No!" exclaimed James, as if this was the very worst charge with which to accuse a person.

"No?" repeated Teddy, hands in the pockets of his long trenchcoat as he walked astride James, tilting his head knowingly. "Big-shot Quidditch player and all?"

James rolled his eyes and shook his head again. He appeared to think of something for a moment… then he shook his head repeatedly as if trying to clear it from his mind.

After a walk that felt longer than it really was because of the cold weather, Albus and the others arrived at The Burrow. In the nearly two decades since his mother had called it home, it really hadn't changed much. There was still a quite rural homestead feel about the place – an aura that had, if anything, grown stronger as the years had gone by. There were a few extra rooms – rooms that some of the Weasley family had insisted be added to the house after a while, if only to support the occasional gathering of what was now a quite large wizard clan. If Albus's count was correct, if everyone showed up to the Burrow at once this Christmas, there would be twenty-six people eating under the same roof. If it had been summer, they could have pitched a tent and eaten outside. If Molly and Arthur Weasley had an abundance of something other than family members, it was land – but Gran Weasley's house as it had been twenty years ago certainly could not have supported that large number. So the Weasley children, who had all for the most part grown up to find much more financial success than their parents, banded together to build a large pavilion for the family to have Christmas dinner, and used the money left over to renovate parts of the home that simply would not have remained standing if left unchecked.

As they arrived on his grandparents' property, Albus was thoroughly unsurprised to find a few of the younger children outside. In a quite thick, light grey winter coat, looking more than a bit like a fair-weather cloud, tottered little Lucy Weasley. She was five, if that, petite, and fair-haired like her mother… not that anyone could tell with the marshmallow-like coat she was wearing. She saw them and pointed, squeaking, "Molly, look! Look!"

Not far away was Lucy's seven-year-old sister, Molly – whom the family usually called 'Mamie' to avoid confusing her with her grandmother. She had very long, very curly, reddish-blonde hair, which bounced and blew in the wind as she came running up to them.

"Hi, Mamie!" Lily said enthusiastically. "Guess what I got for Christmas?"

And with that, the two girls were gone.

"OI! Mind your head!" came a shout from Albus's right. He half-ducked and put up his arm. Something cold and wet smacked into it, creating an explosion of white.

"Hey! Watch where you're aiming!" snapped James in irritation. A few feet away, a nine-year-old boy with auburn hair stared at them mutinously.

"I didn't do anything!" whined Hugo Weasley. "You walked right in the middle of our snowball fight!"

" 'Our'?" repeated James, looking around.

"Don't talk to them, Louis!" Hugo shouted as a boy with reddish blond hair came running up to Albus, James, and Teddy. "They're the enemy."

"The enemy?" uttered James.

"That's right, the enemy!" Hugo yelled. "And when you come back outside, I'm gonna throw a snowball right at your face!"

"Guess that means Rose is here somewhere, too," Albus said as they kept walking.

"Probably inside where it's safe and not freezing," James reasoned darkly.

Stepping into the warmth of the indoors, Albus realized how raw his face was. To add to the heat, the inside of The Burrow was extremely crowded. Everyone who wasn't outside, who was named Weasley or was married to someone named Weasley, seemed to be in here, and Albus had to slog through a lot of hugs. First Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur (who kissed Albus and James on each cheek once), then Aunt Audrey (where was Uncle Percy? Probably handling business somewhere…). Uncle Charlie was next. James hugged him and thanked him profusely for his gift.

"Get over here!" snarled a voice from Albus's right as someone yanked him into a rather tight hug.

"Merlin's beard, Ronald! Don't suffocate him!" shrieked the voice of a woman. When Albus was finally able to surface, he saw Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione beaming at him, as well as Rose, her arms clutched over a thick book that Albus guessed was a Christmas present. He noticed Aunt Hermione was wearing glasses, which was a change from any other time he'd seen her. "You haven't seen Hugo, have you? It's a bit close in here… I can't find him."

"He's outside, guarding the entrance with Louis and a bunch of snowballs," said James casually.

Rose rolled her eyes. "He's going to hurt someone."

"How'd your first term go, Al?" Uncle Ron asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Albus watched his older brother slip away…

**James**

James slipped into the Burrow's new dining hall – a large room, made mostly of wood, with high windows. It somewhat evoked the marriage of majesty and austerity found in the mead halls of another time. A quite large picture of a young man, probably in his twenties, with the trademark Weasley ginger hair, smiled down at James from above. James had never been able to meet his Uncle Fred in person, as Fred had died several years before James was ever born. But, as Fred Weasley had died fighting against the darkest wizard of his era, James had a high respect for him nonetheless.

James's eyes shifted around the hall. On one side, Roxanne had her arms around James's sister, Lily. Dominique was standing there as well. He wasn't sure where Victoire was, but he had a wild guess. Teddy Lupin had mysteriously disappeared about halfway through the gauntlet of Weasley relatives milling around in the main rooms of the house. James's parents were in another corner of the hall, talking with Gran and Grandad. None of the four had seen him yet, which was just fine to him; he'd have to deal with Gran's smothering hugs at some point, but he just didn't feel like it at the moment. Already seated at one of the tables, Freddy Weasley was staring at a gauntlet the very image of the one James himself was wearing. Figuring he could share in Freddy's joy about their new gifts, James went that way first. As he approached closer, though, James noticed that Freddy's stare at his armguard was a blank one, devoid of any joy or delight whatsoever. In fact, if one were to ask James, James would say that Freddy looked rather like his best friend had just died…

With an inward grimace at that comparison, James hoped nothing had happened to Tommy Jordan. Roxanne seemed happy enough, so that probably wasn't the case.

"Hey, Freddy," James uttered. "How's it –"

James never even got a full sentence out. Freddy Weasley jumped to his feet and walked off, taking his armguard with him and shooting James the sort of look that said all too plainly that all wasn't right in Freddy's world…

And it was all James's fault.


End file.
